The Taste of Bitterness
by Caorann fridh Bronach
Summary: In a world filled by disregard, a child learns to adapt and survive. For Kaiba, survival meant abandoning dreams and a hope for comprehension, even from his brother. Mokuba must return to the orphanage, living out the pain again, but this time, alone.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** How much failure and loneliness can a person take before they just retreat…within themselves? Life's not easy, not even for Kaiba Seto. No one, not even his brother, has understood just what he felt when growing up, or how much he held inside, and so no one understands him now. But, when there is a chance for him to finally let out his true past, to finally let everyone know what he went through, what will his choice be?

**Author's Note:** Through research, psychologists have surmised that our bitter tastebuds are so strong because they used to be a way of survival. Long ago, through evolution, those with the ability to taste bitterness survived because poisonous foods commonly have a bitter taste. This way, prehistoric humans would not eat the poisonous food because of its bad flavor, or if they did eat it, they would spit it out again.

"Niisama" is big brother in Japanese—the formal way. The informal, cute way is "oniichan." It is like the difference in "Father" and "Daddy."

This chapter and story is dedicated to The Fifth Champion, a dear friend who has helped me along with my writing and has been waiting to see this dedication for too long. Thanks for always encouraging me and being there to see me through hard times! It is the thought of people like you reading this that really urges me to continue working even when the world crumbles (yes, I'm always melodramatic).

**Prologue**

If anyone had bothered to ask me if everything was all right that day, I would have scoffed at their question and not graced it with a reply. When wasn't I fine?

Such an inexistent person would have shrugged and continued on their way, forgetting me as efficiently as I had already forgotten them. Yes, the idiots of the world always seem to flock to me…that would have been my last thought on the matter. The last thought I would have allowed myself on the matter. And, I would have gotten back to worthwhile pursuits in my life, such as going to my office.

Usually, my mind managed to stay on task well there, but there were always a few items that managed to attract its attention.

If ever there were something I regretted, it was the sight of the briefcase next to me in my office. There they were, the wonderful cards I had worked so hard to collect, yearned so desperately for years before, struggled ceaselessly to make something of myself in order to deserve and pay for them. The cards had never let me down. No, not the Blue-Eyes White Dragons. _They_ were unbeatable. But, somehow, I had failed them.

Thus they would sit beside me, travel everywhere with me, but their coldly accusing stares were more than I could bear. I didn't duel anymore. I may have pretended work was more important than dueling, but I couldn't hide the truth from myself. I didn't deserve to duel anymore. Dueling was reserved for those who succeeded and won. I had failed three times. Twice to Yugi, once to Pegasus. And, if it counted, once to Dartz. But, technically, since Yugi still won that duel, I didn't officially lose.

True duelists would always keep going, always strive to be better. I don't deserve to be a true duelist. Sometimes, defeat must just be accepted. It doesn't do to strain for a reach that will never happen. To lose is to die, as someone important once taught me.

So, I ignored their malevolent stares and sat alone at my computer each day. As close to death as I cared to get at that time.

On a typical day, being still and silent for hours, getting pages and pages of work completed was natural. People could come in and hesitantly ask a question, and I would snap out the answer before they'd hardly started. Usually.

Yet, today, the sounds of the office had snatched away my attention as I traveled up to my solitary room…tapping of keys, clicks of the mouse, ringing of the phone, beeps of the intercom, voices from workers, and ticks of the clock.

Usually, such sounds fade away as the mind delves completely into the work mode on the journey to my office. They become simply another part of the atmosphere, and when all those sounds enveloped me when I was somewhere else, the work ethic would grab me with its intoxicating addicting clutch and only relinquish me after long hours had passed.

This day, for some odd reason, the computer screen was blank in front of me. Charts and notes I could have been looking at. Business associates I could be mailing or calling. Even underlings I could be warning. But, I wasn't doing anything but sitting there.

Slipping into the accustomed facial expression my stepfather had granted me with his teacher, I just stared at the screen, listening to the sounds around me. Even if walls and closed door blockaded the area between me and everyone else even if there were_ floors_ to shut me out, today I heard them.

Chatter.

Tapping.

I tried to focus on a single sentence, even a single product. More work was always begging to be completed. I shouldn't have been struggling like that.

Steps.

Ringing.

Couldn't anyone ever be silent? How was someone supposed to work in such an evironment? Now, the method of Chinese water torture, dropping liquid steadily onto one's head, revealed its process and usefulness to me. Such a personalized study of the torture was enough to drive a person mad within a day.

Clicks.

Sighs.

The page before my eyes was still empty. Completely forgotten. I didn't know why it was this day of all days. I couldn't have explained what came over me or why my thoughts took such a turn. At least, I couldn't right then.

Beeps.

All the milling of sounds went through my mind and softened until just one remained. One that was within the very room I was in and within my very heart and soul…One frightful, constant, steady sound:

Ticks…

**Chapter 1**

My mother died when I was five. There should probably follow some paragraph of remorse on how her death traumatized me to the extent of never allowing me to grow close to anyone again. Perhaps, such an explanation would include a hypothesis of why I'm overall such a cold-blooded bastard. Surely, some psychologists would see my later actions as a complete result of such an experience and claim me innocent of my own actions today. At least, I'm sure some self-righteous American idealist would take a look at my history and see reason to bring me to trial against any who despise me in order to prove that yet again, everyone is a victim and cannot be in control of their actions. _A Nation of Idiots_. (1)

Then again, maybe her death did include some reasons for the above. But, I'm not the best one to talk about for that. I don't really remember her.

However, I do remember what happened because of her death.

My mother's death devastated my father. Any person believing in romantic love would find this plausible and even desirable. But, this was an uneasy predicament because my mother had left behind my little brother. Most of the time, stories of self-sacrificing suicide, such as _Romeo and Juliet_, leave out that little factor. My father, however, did not catch the change in plotlines. He remained steadfastly true to the romantic ideals of aged European males long rotted away from the earth and knowledgeable in their decomposition that their own ideas had ceased to be of use. Those who knew death was but a short span away learned their wonderful glorification of the downward path was, though they never dared admit it, _incorrect_. Death was not so delightful. Hypocrites. But it did not stop those of weak intellect in following their example.

In other words, my father was unable to take care of my younger brother, and I was left to do it.

I think it was because of this that Mokuba's required connections to a living, warm body shifted to me instead of someone more common for the role. Instead of his mother, Mokuba turned to me. Instead of his father, I was the one searching fruitlessly for ways to amuse him and hopelessly attempt to make him stop crying. Sometimes, such actions of utter calm solicitude to his needs were because of an odd sense of responsibility that had developed as my remaining parent ceased to do the requirements to be remotely considered for that name. More often, it was because of a growing headache.

Back then, I know I didn't understand all of what I did now. Maybe, it was _because_ of my new responsibility that I developed some cognitive reasoning early. Thus would the experts in certain fields triumphantly turn towards their opponents and claim environment over hereditary. Such fools would look the other way as such adversaries rejoiced to hear me claim that perhaps my new responsibility brought out the inherited trait sooner than most. Regardless of the ongoing battle between various psychologists, there was a spark of pride when I discovered just what habits made the squealing miniature adult close his mouth for at least thirty minutes. And, from then on, I was in control. Had my father stepped in once more to regain not his primitive role—that would have been chasing and tracking beasts for energetic properties and considering anything moving within a proximity of one hundred feet as a threat—but a newer one developing from circumstances, I could have relinquished it without protest.

Still, he never did.

Therefore, I do know from later research that what proceeded was completely ordinary. Infant attachment. I was Mokuba's "mother" because his father had decided the dead had more important bonds to share with him.

Sometimes, in amusement, I regard my brother as a more primitive life form than the species _Homo sapiens_. It seems his attachment was just waiting around for someone to approach him that he could love, making it all appear more like imprinting than anything else. Yes, imprinting. The way many birds wait for the first large object to come into view after hatching to follow around and consider "mother." Sometimes, that needed "mother" ended up being a human or a dog, and after the initial sighting, the birds forever attempted to do whatever their "mother" did. I know Mokuba's not like that. But, our circumstances helped form him into a closer brother than most families would have. Or so I conjecture.

In a certain perverse way, it was a blessing, some would say, that Mokuba did not connect with my father and pour out of his tiny being his complete trust and utter affectation. For, just three years later, my father was gone, too. Then again, it was not as if he had ever so much as tried to be a sentient being in our lives during the interlude. His was a living death before his body faded in one climatic burst of glass, gore, and speed.

Regardless of his personal choices, that was when I became a man. It didn't matter that I was eight years old. I was simply an adult. Now, I had to be Mokuba's "father" as well. Already being his mother, the last step wasn't too difficult. Besides, my biological kin had never believed me to be anything but his parents.

* * *

"The strain was too great on his mind. We'll run some tests, see what happened. But, there's no telling if he will ever come out of this state he is in." 

Cold, crisp, the doctor's words fell to deaf ears.

"You're wrong!" Mokuba said sharply. "My brother would never lose his mind, never! He's smarter than anyone! And he knows what will happen if he stays this way," the boy added softly, hand going to the card locket around his neck.

"Yes, as to your personal arrangements…the social workers are on their way." The doctor glances away from the stricken face. "It's just how things work. As your legal guardian and being unable to function, Mr. Kaiba can no longer keep you with him. But, if your brother ever comes out of this state with little damage, you'll be able to reside with him once more."

The boy ignored the words and looked into the small room, begging with his shining eyes that his brother would do something. Something besides stare blankly at the wall. But the eyes, once Mokuba could even try to see into them, were dull and reflected his own look back.

"Please, niisama. Please."

Behind him, the footfalls of two sets of neat feet, one set clicking heels, came to a halt. It was obvious they were exchanging glances with the doctor, and the young Kaiba could guess what the doctor was trying to convey to them. Probably out of sympathy, or rather, out of a reason _disguised_ as sympathy, a heavy hand rested on Mokuba's shoulder suddenly, heating it unnaturally.

It was the woman who spoke, "Kaiba Mokuba, I'm here to pick you up. The doctors informed us of Mr. Kaiba's predicament. Perhaps you want to say goodbye?"

The woman was looking at the doctor for permission, and while he had the look why-did-you-tell-him-that-when-his-brother-won't-even-notice-him-you'll-just-break-the-kid's-heart the doctor said nothing negative.

As the door was being unlocked, the boy shrugged off the male social worker's hand and waited. Then, the gaping hole just biding its time before it, too, could swallow him, Mokuba went into the room.

Though there was a loud _snick_—louder because of the silence within—as the door clanged shut, the young man within did not react. There was not even a brief blink to clean the eyes going dry from the small wind both the moving boy and door had caused.

"Seto…" Desperate for some sort of reaction, Mokuba grabbed a limp hand and held it in both of his own.

Some ways, the young man's state was worse than a coma. At least, in a coma, there was a reason for no reaction. But like this, awake and aware but doing nothing…it was as if he had given up on the world and everyone in it. Including his younger brother.

There had been no damage to any part of his brain that the tests showed. Whatever had happened occurred because of an outside force, a non-biological factor.

"They're taking me away. I won't be able to come see you anymore. So," he said blinking rapidly, "I want you to know that's why I'll be gone. It isn't because of something else. I'll always be there for you, niisama, even if I am miles away. Remember that!"

Hand trembling, he placed it over his brother's amulet, wishing a different hand held the necklace instead of his own. Then, from a tap on the window indicating haste, Mokuba dropped the lifeless hand and hugged his brother one last time. But, it did not feel right because there was no return hug.

Cold, forlorn, not even his shoulder retaining the unnaturally hot feeling, Mokuba allowed the two social workers to lead him away.

* * *

(1): A book under the title of _A Nation of Victims_ includes stories and descriptions of pathetic American lawsuits that won money. A good example is of the person who sued and won for coffee not having the label of "hot" and he was burned.

_Please _review, and thanks for those who do. Maybe you're confused right now, but read on and questions will be answered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Ah, yes, there could be no merciful ignorance, no worthwhile loss of memory to replace the interlude of those next two years. Perhaps, because Mokuba was younger, he does not recall the avid scenes as well as I. Yet, maybe he does and refuses to bring them up. Certainly, there is no reason to remind ourselves of the overwhelming burden we gave to our extended family as circumstances out of our control shoved us forth into their so unwelcoming grasp.

Well, they were welcoming at first.

Some of the conversations still echoes in a chamber where I have locked away all those evil items to never be released into the present day. It was probably here, and not Gozaburo, where I learned the meaning of sarcasm. Learned but did not yet attempt its intricacies and appeal.

"Seto, Mokuba! When I heard of your father's death…it greatly saddened me."

One hand being clutched by Mokuba's rather tight and sweaty one, all I did was stand there immobile and stare at the man. I'm sure I had seen him before. But, when such a young child, as Mokuba was, the person became a stranger every time there was a brief absence from view. For me, it was probably the combination of not seeing my father's brother in such a long time and all the traumatic events that occurred in the interval.

He ushered us inside, sending us into the welcoming, snaking arms of his wife, but I caught the next part of the conversation.

"So, all the money he left is for us to use on the kids?"

The one knowledgeable of all the loopholes in the law—I'm referring to a lawyer, of course—nodded. "Yes, here's the information you need to use it. Such a shame that this happens. But at least the law and wills provide for the boys." He gave a gusto sigh as if it were his predicament to be passed off to an uncle and aunt who claimed to want him. Such a dense man. He never even realized what was going to happen.

By then, my aunt had lovingly yanked me farther away from the one who was learning the rules of stealing our small fortune. Fortune if taken all at once. Since it was for the rest of our lives, there was nothing so spectacular about it. Still, there is always a certain appeal to wealth—especially for those inhabiting absolutely no talents of their own they have to snatch it from those who have worked and strained to become something special.

Do I care that my wealth has surpassed this multiple times by now and my family has long-since hit hard times? No. The memory of it still makes me clench my teeth and hands…

For, as much as those limited omniscient dweebs liked to rant it, there was some truth that events tended to add up and cause later events. Not quite destiny, certainly, but everything led to another, and eventually my brother and I would go to a place where daily living was abominable as hell.

* * *

"Don't look so miserable, kid. We're taking you to the best orphanage around. Besides, you're off-limits to people for an order of thirty days in case your brother wakes up." 

_Wakes up._ Those words were false. Seto wasn't sleeping. He had given up. There was no reason to believe a mere thirty days would bring him back to himself, especially left in a little room alone as he was.

"Besides, even if your brother doesn't wake up, you'll get the money that is rightfully yours from the company. I'd say you're pretty blessed."

So blessed. That was why he was back here. Back in the orphanage. But this time, he was alone. Completely, utterly, alone. And his brother might not ever 'wake up.'

* * *

Cousins. Whoever claimed every person needed kin in order to thrive and live the fullest life possible lied. There are so many liars out there it is impossible to hear anything truthful anymore. But all those trumped-up words about loving your family and learning true values there…what a crack. 

I learned more from Gozaburo than I learned from anyone considered my blood relations. Of course, besides sarcasm, they managed to teach me something in their complete anarchical proceedings.

Two cousins, one boy and one girl. They were around our age, Mokuba's and mine. That was where the resemblance ended.

One always had to be the best at everything. Born a scant few months before I was, he always believed himself superior from his so much greater time of life to gain wisdom. Obviously, his own lack of wits had never proven his own fallibility. Yet.

So, in any type of game in which he would force us into compliance, my dear cousin got to experience the bliss of being perfect and being awarded such roles and achievements as such.

What I mean is that he would always throw a tantrum until we exasperatedly deemed him winner or gave him the best part in other games. And, if we stopped feeling like having any type of correspondence with him, he would overuse such tactics again because of the success he always had with his higher authority.

The sister was in the same sort of confinement as Mokuba and myself, but when she raged out at him without fear—growing up in a land of evil makes one slightly immune to the evil—he would just move onto Machiavelli's first rule: if the end is desirable, the means are justified; better known as the ends justify the means. So, he would use bodily power or his rare-sprung good idea to twist the words around to make himself appear like the victim to those who only had ears for him anyway.

At a time when we were still adjusting to life with absolutely no guidance and complete responsibility, at least on my part, these cousins taught the rules of the world to us. So, for all those who believed Gozaburo's influence to be the corruption of a soul once pure and valuable ignore the fact that the soul also had relatives take it in and merely keep it and mutilate it for two years before the money from its father was gone.

Then, the loving, caring kin dropped us off at the orphanage.

* * *

The orphanage, as anyone could have guessed, was dismal. For one, hardly anyone Mokuba's age was there. The few that happened to be looked surly and unapproachable. For a second, the owner of the orphanage had a glint in his eye that indicated he was assessing every new boy as an animal to be sold for the best price. His name was Mr. Guy. 

"Mr. Guy, this is Kaiba Mokuba. Remember the circumstances regarding him?"

The man looked Mokuba up and down, one hand holding a limp lank of greasy hair between two fingers. "Yes," he said softly. "This is the one who will remain with me for a month with no attempts of paying me back for my charity. The one who is to be off limits to every set of parents that arrive to observe the boys and lovingly take them home. The one who will eat off my plates as if he belongs here more than the other boys who are genuinely trying to be adopted. The one who comes from a family of such excellent means that he should never have to be here."

The social worker frowned. But, Mr. Guy suddenly smiled at him and held out his hand that had not been touching his greasy hair. "Fear not. I will take excellent care of him. Do I not do so to all the boys in my care?"

One sweeping worker paused to look up right then, eyes glaring at the owner of the orphanage. But, hardly discernable, Mr. Guy flicked his hair back, and the sweeper got back to business.

With no reply, the social worker gave Mokuba's back a small shove. The woman social worker handed over the correct paperwork needed to explain everything, and then they turned to leave.

"Remember what I told you, Mokuba. There's no need to worry until later. I'm sure your brother will be back to himself in no time."

Mr. Guy's slow leer crossed his face at those words, but he said nothing. Miserably, the boy followed the orphanage owner into the set of buildings.

Opening the door to a room that was exactly the same as the others, Mr. Guy watched Mokuba enter the room and sit on the very edge of the bed, back stiffly straight.

"No doubt you wish to know mealtimes. Dinner will be served in two hours. One of the other inmates will be able to direct you to the mess hall. Good day."

With a swift stride, the owner was gone, leaving Mokuba to sit there quietly on the bed. There was nothing for the young Kaiba to do, as none of his belongings were yet there. He did not even know if any of them would be coming. And what would he do about school? Did he just not go anymore?

There was no understanding anything. The social workers had explained so much, but he was still unanswered.

Why had his brother gone mad?

* * *

They had discovered his brother still sitting, eyes open blankly, in his office. Well, it had happened before that he worked all night long. But this time, everyone could see that something was different. Still, they had not noticed how long he had been sitting that way the day before. Kaiba Seto was a difficult person to approach. 

Not this time. An employee hesitantly asked if he needed anything. As the man was ignored, he tried more questions. There was no scathing remarks, no biting criticism. That frightened the employee more than a caustic reply would have. So, he went to alert someone.

Doctors finally came to see what was wrong with the CEO of Kaiba Corp. All they could determine was that he was in a mental shutdown. Without tests, they would learn nothing more. Still, once they had led him to the car and hospital like a docile patient just gone through lobotomy, the tests never showed anything more. They admitted him to the hospital and sent a phone call for Mokuba.

The one time Seto had gone hostile during everything was when the doctor had been changing his clothing and giving him a hospital gown. The doctor had also tried to take his brother's watch, but for some reason, Seto didn't want to give it up. And, once the doctor had gotten it off, his brother had gone completely still, back to his old form. Almost like he was listening, straining. Except that that was impossible because Seto was doing nothing. He was limp. It did not make sense.

And now, there he remained in the hospital, dead to everything.


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter is dedicated to _you_. Thanks for trying this story.

**Chapter 3**

Mokuba was so deep in his remembrances that he did not notice how tightly he was clutching his opened card locket. He also was never aware of the small, light footsteps outside his door.

A small body leaning over his hand caught his attention, and Mokuba quickly snapped shut the necklace and sat further back. Before him, no more than five, was a boy with the same black hair as his own, only shorter. But it was mainly the dark blue eyes that caught Mokuba's gaze. They were a little darker than his brother's, but they still seemed so similar.

"Are you alone now, too?" the boy asked. A few other young boys were crowded behind him.

"No…"

The boy stared up at him with round eyes. Then, he pointed a little finger at the card around Mokuba's neck. "Is that your dad?"

"No…it's my…brother."

"Did he leave you here?" the boy persisted, leaning far too close into Mokuba for the young Kaiba to be comfortable.

"No."

"Did something happen to him?"

The other kids behind the young one whispered when Mokuba stopped answering. Swiftly, he put the card necklace under his shirt, hoping that once it was out of sight no one would remember it.

"Is he here too?" Apparently, this kid was too old to be fooled that the necklace was just "gone" when he put it away.

Sighing, Mokuba pulled his knees up to his body and shook his head.

"Can I see him again, please?"

Startled, Mokuba's hold on his legs slackened. "Why?"

Again, the large pair of deep blue eyes, close to navy, peered expressionlessly into his face. "I don't have any pictures."

Instantly, the young Kaiba understood. No pictures of his family, who must have died. Or, at least, they had left him here for a different reason. Slowly, he changed his position until his necklace was out once more. The young boy crawled up onto the bed and sat down beside him to see. The other boys crowded in closer, whispering and giving furtive glances at Mokuba.

The first child, the only one with a real voice it seemed, asked seriously, "Can he be my brother, too?"

"Well…"

Before he could even try to answer his own trailing off, a much older boy came into the room. This one looked familiar, and suddenly Mokuba recalled having seeing him sweep the floor. He had to be around fifteen—older than Mokuba himself.

He took one glance at Mokuba with the crowd of boys and sneered. "What's the matter, Kaiba, couldn't afford your silken sheets anymore?" He strode forward, effectively scattering the boys like a fox leaping into the midst of pigeons. Well, all but the first boy who clutched Mokuba's shirt tightly.

"Don't try to hide who you are. I know you're a Kaiba! What are you doing here, huh? Why would some rich brat be in an orphanage?"

"Leave me alone!" Mokuba burst out, jumping to his feet.

"I don't have to. I owe all richies something, and nothing you can say will persuade me you don't deserve it."

Behind him, still cowering, was the five-year-old boy. Hands tightening to fists at his sides, Mokuba tried to emulate his brother's effective glare. However, he must not have gotten it correct, for this bully did not blanch or crumple in a pile but strode forward.

"I owe all richies this!" he cried, swinging his fist forward.

There was not enough time to duck. The full blast knocked Mokuba's face askew and sent him backward. Because of the young boy's presence, Mokuba tripped backward and lay on the ground sprawled, trying to gather his wits.

"I guess not even Kaibas are immune to just a poor boy's fists."

The other group of young boys was vacant from the area, completely hidden away. The one Mokuba had tripped over remained, but he was motionless, just staring at the older boy.

"Leave him alone, Sven!" he finally piped out, looking terrified to have said anything.

The bully narrowed his eyes. "Shut it, Jumi, or you're next. I don't have a problem teaching rules to five-year-olds."

He was trying to be tough, but Jumi fled at the threat. Sven forgot him immediately and glowered down at Mokuba.

"Ready for some more?"

"SVEN!"

The adolescent froze in place. Then, still glaring, he turned to the speaker, Mr. Guy. From his position on the floor, Mr. Guy appeared no more a savior than he had the first time Mokuba had seen him. Not even the squinting haze surrounding one eye could manage to give the orphanage owner a halo.

Behind the man, Jumi poked his head out, midnight blue eyes glancing at Sven once before concentrating on Mokuba. Then, hesitantly, he tried a smile.

The young Kaiba tried on his own smile, but it hurt. Besides, before too long, Mr. Guy had Mokuba on his feet and was marching him down the hall as well as Sven.

"You're both in huge trouble."

Silent, both of them walked stiffly down the hall.

* * *

The orphanage. 

Ages five and ten, a sanctuary of rowdy boys and fierce gang-like loyalties to surround us within its tender arms. There was no crevice, no loop to worm your way through to the outside world. True, the outside world would have welcomed me with silence and stern disregard, but at least there would have been a semblance of order, a pretending going on by everyone that this was a democracy and blessed world holding dreams that can be accomplished if you work ever so diligently. Within, there was only the blunt truth: we were urchins cast aside with no hope unless it was to just barely avoid becoming scoundrels on the street.

Of course, not all orphanages are like that. At least, where the infants are kept, where there is a constant sale of tender softness, they are kept with better hope. After all, everyone wants to adopt babies. It was older children that had such problems. Already so aware of the hypocrisy of the world, no one wanted a child wiser than he or she was. Wiser in the ways of bitter truth and negligent hope. Instead, they went for the false love of infants who could not stare at them with eyes filled with reveries of failed dreams and ruined lives.

Sometimes, I thought of it all as a sale, a market. Orphanages carrying older children still had procurers, most likely because of the reduced time needed to actually purchase the item. Waiting for an infant could take years. At least with older children it was see and take.

So, adults came occasionally and looked us over. Those were the bad days, the times when someone came in with false cheeriness and tried to put a slight upward curvature onto the faces of countless, impassive boys. The end result was always the same: someone would be leaving with a dull glance back at the place, abandoning former "brothers" as someone whispered borrowed dreams of delightful hope in his ear to comfort him who had already gone through more pain than the one adopting will ever go through in life.

And yet, Mokuba dislikes to recall what I told to him so often there and afterwards: "Always be on your guard. You'll be finished if you show any weakness."

There was only one way to adapt, and that was to remain above the system. Feel nothing, expect nothing for your benefit, and cease to be so attached to your dreams.

That is how you survive.

Mokuba will tell you that at the orphanage I was happy, that I smiled back then. So I showed him. It was only to him that the time at Gozaburo's wiped the weak, tiring grin from my face and replaced it with the natural, easy smirk and iron-held, immovable glare. But the smiles had been gone for a long time before that. It was only because Mokuba never saw a true smile that he believed these, the false ones that were the best and only I had to offer, were true delight.

I've never set him straight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"All right, my little…exuberant ones. I don't care what you did or who did what. Tonight, you each get to clean one bathroom." Mr. Guy handed them pails and mops with a smirk.

That wasn't fair! How could someone punish others without even knowing the story? Mokuba frowned, about to begin a round of protesting. Sven, however, merely stalked out with his supplies without ever glancing at Mokuba.

The young Kaiba made no move to leave and do as the orphanage owner demanded. Something important was rattling around in his brain, and slowly, as the thought took its form, twining into every crevice of his body like that of a red-eyed snake, Mokuba knew what his brother would expect him to do.

Seto never stood around and let others boss him about. Now, Mokuba had to be strong and willing to follow his brother's example. Even if his brother were not aware of how Mokuba was taking him for an example, the boy knew his brother would nod in approval…if Kaiba were able.

Mr. Guy looked over at the boy, a flicker of wrath crossing his face. "What are you still doing here, orphan? Get to work or I'll make you do more."

Taking a deep breath, wishing the air contained courage along with its living qualities, Mokuba tried to be reasonable. Seto would not want him to sound like a petulant child complaining of a task. "What you said is not fair. I didn't—"

"What part of 'I don't care' did you not understand? Are you inferring that after all this time you have spent receiving a good education you do not even know how various words work together? No wonder your brother could no longer stand to have you around him and retreated within himself."

The silence was not even parted by the sound of breathing.

Absolutely stiffened, Mokuba finally said, "Take that back."

Mr. Guy never seemed to realize with how tightly a coiled spring he was dealing. Without a break in the momentum—Mokuba's insert and the silence seemed to be there because the orphanage owner wanted the words to sink in and make the boy react—he proceeded with his torrent of acid rain, "I would want to get away from an idiotic brother myself. It is not surprising you were never adopted before—your brother had to force a deal to get you taken."

Somethingabout Mokuba's face resembled that of a cracked porcelain vase. Mr. Guy, continuing to relax in his chair, leered as he added, "Oh, yes, Kaiba Mokuba, I know all about you. Maybe you weren't at my orphanage before, but I have the record of your life at my disposal, and I will use it as I see fit."

While he had been all potential energy turning kinetic before, some variable in the equation had changed, and Mokuba turned back to liquid emotion, all desire for justice softened like ice dumped into a fire.

"That is not true."

But his words lacked conviction and defiance even to himself; instead, the voice was a child's melancholic wail on how unfair the world was. Hearing that tone himself instantly made Mokuba tighten once more. His brother would hate to hear such a whiny sound.

Mr. Guy was observing all the reactions with a bemused expression, infuriating Mokuba even more by his lack of sitting up straight or even giving the boy his complete attention. Offhandedly, he looked out the window before turning to Mokuba once more.

"You know it's true or you wouldn't have such a strong reaction."

More silence stifled the screaming of Mokuba's heart. Seeing the orphan had no comeback for this, Mr. Guy smiled—not a smirk, but a genuine smile.

Finally straightening, Mr. Guy went to organizing something on his desk as his mind took him to more important matters. "Now, I'd advise you to get working before I give you more tasks to do. If you don't want to feel as though you are being punished for something you didn't do, just think of it as payment for your staying here unable to be adopted for a month; you have to do chores to be useful and earn your keep. At least there Sven beats you. Or else, just think of it as being where you truly belong and what you should be doing had your brother not wasted away his life trying to help you along."

Cold fury was coursing through Mokuba's body like his blood had just melted free from his frozen veins, and even as his eyes gathered the ice that his brother's normally held and retained to look upon the world with the same feeling Kaiba believed to receive from it; and even as his hands accumulated the pent-up wrath and natural-formed hardened fists, the orphanage owner just lolled back in his chair and gazed at Kaiba Mokuba amusedly. One finger tapped his cheekbone as he rested easily, greasy hair ticking in tendrils to the same beat of his heavy digit.

That isn't true—Seto didn't waste his life—I know he's not like he is because of _me_. Even in his mind, Mokuba's racing thoughts were staggered. But one thing was certain even for his shocked brain to absorb and defend: Seto had wanted him and had poised the deal in order to keep Mokuba with him.

The clang from the dropped pail echoed in the quiet room, but as the brother-less boy prepared to move, forward or backward—uncertain himself of which he would choose—Mr. Guy, with incredible alacrity, had a heavy metal rod in one hand tapping the desk where his finger had been formerly.

"Come closer and you'll meet the end of this pipe." Within the silent room, no need was there for the man to raise his voice. "Now, get cleaning the bathroom, little encumbrance." His grin never reached his cold, frozen eyes—

—_eyes Mokuba was not certain how they varied from Seto's, only that the two could not possibly be similar_—

—and as Mokuba left in a whirlwind, he called softly after the boy, "Oh, and I wouldn't waste too much time on the bathroom, little hindrance, since you have so many other chores to do tonight."

* * *

The line between father and brother is usually quite an obvious one. Seldom are there gray lines in which a brother can be taken as a father. But, as with everything else in my damned life, even that was disordered and full of confusion. 

No doubt it was all my own doing. After all, I had told him that myself after the episode of the park.

Just the one word is enough to bring back the exact feelings and senses of what had happened that day. Dusk was falling, turning everything the light touched into gold and a cowardly yellow it could almost be called lily-white. Bird calls were growing fewer and fewer, and each flap of their wings illustrating their intelligence of trying to escape the area that never turned a thought to them anyway. At least they had learned of the cold contempt of the world and ceased to rely on others to do anything for them.

After all my struggles from earlier in my life, all I ever wanted was some small respite. I didn't have any parents; why should I be forced to become one now and so soon? So was it any wonder that I didn't follow my brother when he left, but instead decided he might like some time alone? Or maybe it was my own selfishness that wanted time alone.

None of that mattered as the sun sank. Time to bring Mokuba back to the orphanage…where we both belonged.

No extraordinary feats of straining the mind were needed to go to the right area. My feet had tread the path before, but then, there had been two other sets to tread along with my own, back when my steps did not make such a jaded sound as this time.

And, there, at the end of my path to the old park, just sitting on a swing, was my younger brother, crying.

Were any parents or other adults ahead of me, soothing him with soft sounds? Even when a strange child gets a bump on the playground, was it too much to ask that another would grant a little comfort—the motherly kind, preferably, which he had never been granted?

No. No one was around at all, probably having had vacated quickly to shove aside the heart-felt sounds that were making them feel guilt for some orphaned boy. What did society owe to such a mistreated child? It wasn't as if they had personally been responsible for the circumstances surrounding our upbringing. No, the evils of the world just had to be allowed and accepted because there were too few people who cared to do anything about it. And people wonder why my motto is what it is.

When the sobs were no longer in their ears, their mind could adequately make the excuses needed to justify their actions.

When I walked over to him and said we should go back, he bubbled out all his miserable words and emotions as if I had accused of him something: "I'm sorry, niisama. I thought I could turn back time to when Dad was alive if I went to the park where we used to play."

He was five. What was I supposed to say?

What caught my attention wasn't even any of his tearful words about our father, but one that had to do with me. _Niisama_. Right then, I realized he would _never_ call me "oniichan."

I think my hatred of Jonouchi was forever imbedded when I heard her cry out "Oniichan!" Someone like him…to have what I wanted…

Never would I be allowed to be my own brother's brother, but only a respectful parent—but I couldn't blame him for our predicament. So, at that moment, I knew what I had to say.

"Mokuba, don't cry anymore. I know how you feel. We're not stray dogs or rubbish. Don't worry about those people who made us like this. I'll make sure you can live happily. From now on, I'll be your father. I'll protect you no matter what. So stop crying."

Yes, I had taken over the role of parent before, but I had never completely admitted it to myself, and especially not to him. Now, everything between would be different and that was the day I gave up thinking we would ever be like true brothers or that I could ever cease being in charge.

At least, so I thought.

Then I told him, "Listen, always be on your guard. You'll be finished if you show any weakness."

My cliché had not really been meant solely for my brother. Just by saying the words aloud, they became a truth for _me._ Now, there were Mokuba's dreams to think of, and I wasn't going to let him abandon the world. I wasn't even going to let him abandon the American dream— making our way to the top despite our lifestyle—even though we were Japanese.

When I made myself Mokuba's father, I made myself a promise that Mokuba would have what I didn't—a chance to live out his dreams no matter what.

The world owed me at least that much.

* * *

Gritting his teeth, Mokuba jammed the mop into the pail of soapy water, splashing it everywhere. From the state of the floor, this place had not been cleaned for months. But, because this was an all-boy orphanage, and one rather cheaply run, the dirt had accumulated from just the past two weeks. Or so Mr. Guy claimed. 

Where various bubbles and droplets had flown from the explosion of soap-laced liquid, small mud cakes formed.

Seeing the large task ahead of him, Mokuba muttered darkly to himself and kicked the bucket of water over. Instantly, a quagmire formed.

A small hand quickly reached over and righted the bucket.

"Uh oh! You spilled the water!"

It was Jumi.

"What are you doing here? You weren't punished." Then another option dawning on him, Mokuba gestured to the toilets. "Go ahead—I haven't touched them yet." Mokuba belatedly realized the end of that sentence was not likely to encourage the young orphan.

The boy laughed. "I came to help, oniichan!"

The title "oniichan" jarred the young Kaiba for a moment. But, seeing Jumi's closed-eyes smile beaming up at him, he couldn't tell the boy anything that would make the smile vanish. Besides, it was common for children to call those boys older than they were "older brother."

"But you didn't do anything wrong, Jumi."

"I like being with you." After a small pause, now serious, his big eyes looked up at him once more. Jumi took one step closer to Mokuba. "Will you be my big brother?"

Whipping the mop about in a frenzy, Mokuba did not know what to say. Apparently, Jumi _wasn't_ just being traditional with his titles. But, Mokuba's own older brother would one day wake up and take him back to the mansion where he belonged. He had to believe that. And, someone else would adopt this kid. There was no way to truly be brothers, none at all. At least, so Mokuba told himself to avoid trying to speak around the closing of his throat.

While Mokuba was still standing there in shock, Jumi proceeded to reach the sinks with the bucket and refill it. That was the easy part. Trying to climb down off the stool to the ground with the water intact was a task that had the same odds as gasoline putting out flames: impossible.

"Jumi, let me take that!"

"I'm helping," the boy explained, again smiling as he hurried to the ground and took a rag to wash the stalls. At least, as far on the stalls as he could reach.

Helpless, ceasing the mopping he had begun again, Mokuba just watched Jumi spilling water all over the floor and on himself.

"Jumi…"

"What?" There was too much enthusiasm in just that one word for Mokuba to say anything at all. Instead, he bit his lip, wondering why this all seemed so familiar to him.

"You-you're getting all wet," he finished lamely.

"It's fun!" He paused in his water-splashing antics. "I like to help. You're my brother! We help each other." Looking down, he added softly, "I'm glad you stuck up to Sven."

Just mentioning the elder boy's name brought the pain back to his face. Still swollen, it throbbed with the pounding of his reluctant heart.

Was there any harm being there for a younger child for a short time? How could something so helpful ever be wrong? So, despite his own desire to remain always the younger sibling, to wallow in his pity of being stranded, Mokuba told himself that now, Jumi was his brother and Jumi needed him to be strong.

And, now that the decision had been made, Mokuba looked over Jumi and realized something. Mokuba's older brother had never called him anything other than "Mokuba," and for the first time, the young Kaiba wondered why. The answer was immediately apparent; Seto had always been a very serious soul, and using something besides a name just wasn't in his character. Now, though, Mokuba just didn't feel right calling Jumi anything other than his name, even if most other people had other references for their younger siblings.

Sighing, Mokuba swished the mop through the mud some more and nodded. "All right, Jumi. You can keep working on those stalls." Eyeing the streaks of dirt the boy was enthusiastically rubbing on the doors, he added, "Just let me get you some new water."

* * *

Parents always came looking at us. They didn't seem to understand my own responsibilities to my brother; some actually believed I would abandon him where he was to go with them to suffer my brain through countless agonies in order to put it into working order and maybe shame Einstein. They didn't know of my vow: it was not any dreams of mine that mattered, but Mokuba's. 

So, until they offered to empty their purses on two soulless children, no trace of hope existed that I would ever go with them. It simply was not an option. A true father would never abandon his child.

Though it was never myself who informed his saddened senses, Mokuba knew of the offers. But he said nothing. Most people at that age never had to worry or contemplate a future where the one closest and most important to you vanishes without a trace and is never again part of your life. For Mokuba, it had happened with his true parents already. I knew he had to fear something of the same sort from me. Not as if he thought I would do it willingly—more like someone or something would snatch me away if we weren't carefully minding our P's and Q's or being exceptionally obedient. Almost, I could see a change in his behavior as time went on.

Immediately following an offer that he had heard gossip of, my little brother would be behaving immaculately, doing whatever was helpful or what was asked. And, because of the operant conditioning that was happening—there was a reward following such actions, namely that I never left—he learned that good behavior meant I stayed. Hence why my brother acts almost like a dog answering my whistle at times.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Sleeping in the orphanage that first night was the next large struggle because it was like any first night in a new place, out on one's own. Yet, no anchor of stability or rope of safety reached out to Mokuba with the knowledge that, were everything to fail, he could always return home where one loved him without fail. With Kaiba absent from the mansion, he had no home and the boy had no control over his own life at all.

Dinner had been skipped because of his working and as another one of Mokuba's punishments. By that time, all Mokuba felt like doing was collapsing on his bed. At least he should have been allowed to do that, he reasoned.

The room that had been deigned as his was a welcome sight. Yet, when he saw the bed was now absent, his steps faltered. Was this really the same room?

"Ahh, little _nuisance_. Someone must have forgotten to tell you. This was just the room holding the extra bed. Don't worry; I knew you wouldn't want to be all alone, so I took the liberty and absolute favor to put your bed in the more comforting place with the other boys. You can find it just down the hall." The orphanage owner gave one of his timely pauses. "Or did you think you had some…_privileges_ by what your _second_ last name used to be?"

Eyes narrowing to replications of his brother's wintry orbs, Mokuba set his jaw and began to concentrate on his thoughts instead of giving into Mr. Guy's taunts.

Such a smirk should be illegal, Mokuba was thinking as he trudged over to the next room, hating feeling like he had lost a grand test. Arguing was pointless, anyway. The ever constant throbbing of his face was in equal tune with the iron rod the orphanage owner had pounded into one hand earlier that day.

But if such a smirk were illegal, where would his brother be allowed? Mokuba shook his head, refusing to follow through on such thoughts. He loved his brother. What else mattered?

A few beds were already taken by younger boys, but it was early for even such young children to be sleeping. Yet, it was obvious they had only fallen silent because Mr. Guy was present. A chorus of chiming voices had ceased as the footsteps approached. Not only Mokuba had learned to respect the owner's presence. All the little slave-children learned quickly what happened if they put their hands into the fire, and no one was going to repeat the experience. The only one who had fought out against the injustice just proved the orphanage owner's complete control…nothing could stop Guy's swift penalties. And unlike the characters in stories or history, these boys could not revolt under the conditions, could not follow Sven's example, could not take the pain of making a difference. After all, these boys had so little left to save that they held onto everything they had remaining as nettles did to skin.

Climbing into the nearest available bed, aware always of Guy's predator eyes just waiting to see Mokuba misbehave in order to punish him, Mokuba turned his back to the orphanage owner and tried to sleep. As if that would happen with Guy's presence so near. It was only when the slow treading steps moved away that he could relax enough to even feel drowsy. Even then, Mokuba wasn't certain why Mr. Guy had left without further taunts and worried the man would return.

"Oniichan!" came an excited voice. Why was it right next to him?

Turning slightly, Mokuba grew alarmed when he felt something creeping on his bed—the body's first reaction is to fight or flee such surprises, but fortunately, the boy's indecision of which to do kept the smaller being crawling up the bed safe from unintentional harm.

His heart slowed as Jumi's giggling face appeared, and the rest of the five-year-old soon nestled in closely. He was so near that Mokuba had to move over slightly to give himself more room. When that happened, however, the younger boy just crept closer, throwing an arm over Mokuba and resting his head on the young Kaiba's shoulder—basically, just making himself right at home on Mokuba's body.

These boys…they must have been like a desert cactus waiting for any moisture to suck up as they strained to feel the fleeting rain of any attention or affection. After all, Mr. Guy was very stingy with his affection, if he even had any. Why would such a person run an orphanage? Mokuba couldn't answer his own questions…that was what his older brother had been for.

Quickly shoving aside the emotions and train of thought, Mokuba concentrated on Jumi's easy breathing from where the boy had nestled in closely. In…out…and in again. Constant, steady, like the ticking of a clock. And yet…something about it made the boy uneasy instead of weary. Somehow, the thought of clocks made him think of his older brother again, and any collection of tiredness that had misted over his eyes faded.

He missed Seto.

"Niisama," he whispered so softly it was a mere mouthing of the words. One hand held his card, but there was no need to look at it. The picture was imbedded in his mind by now.

_Why?_

What an odd question to pop into his thoughts right at that moment, so surprising like how Jumi had the tendency of appearing from nowhere. Why did Mokuba love his brother? Merely because Seto was his brother? The boy wasn't certain Seto had ever shown much of a tender side, not even to him

No, that's wrong! Mokuba thought desperately. I know Seto was always there for me; I just can't recall anything right now. But I know it…

Finally, searching thoroughly throughout his mind, Mokuba finally discovered a memory that would assuage his growing fear, a fear that was unnamed in case the name would make it real.

Remembrances of past times in the orphanage flowed through his mind right then. He recalled all the boys, all the laughter, all the parents. But most of all, he remembered his brother. They would play chess and other games. There, through the memory of his five-year-old self, Mokuba could see the innocent smile filtering onto Seto's face. It was pure, it was true, it was the water Mokuba needed to keep going. Whenever anything grew to be an intense struggle, Seto had been there for him.

Bullies had tried to pick on Mokuba plenty of times. But, _always_, his niisama would be there to help him and keep him safe. Simply, Mokuba's world had revolved around his brother.

"Niisama," he would whisper at night when he crept into Seto's bed for comfort, "will you tell me again about what we're going to do later?"

Never was there a need to translate. He had asked it so many times the boy himself had the answer memorized. But his older brother's voice would always whisper back, "When we're free from this place, we're going to do whatever we want. You can become anything you ever dream about and grow famous. You can become a spy, even."

All this was heresy back then, back in an orphanage that couldn't even afford to educate those within it. And Seto had already known when so young that one needed an education to get anywhere in life. But Mokuba still trusted his older brother; if such complications arose, he was certain Seto would get him out of them again.

"What about a soccer star?" Mokuba's dreams of what to become were the only part of the conversation that would change. It seemed his lifetime career would take about twenty different turns if his decisions back then influenced it at all.

"Yes, a soccer star. _Anything_, Mokuba. That's what being free is about. We're not always going to be held back."

And, snuggling in closer, the innocent youth would whisper to himself, _"Anything!" _as he fell into a peaceful slumber dreaming of all the different pathways his life would take. Always, though, his brother had been beside him in those dreams. Unlike now.

This isn't what you had in mind, Seto, Mokuba thought to himself with a lump in his throat. It's not what I had in mind. But don't worry; I won't let anyone hold me back here.

* * *

Mokuba's closest teacher had noticed the boy's absence, and she wondered when next she would see him in class. A phone call to the principal told her that she would not be expecting Mokuba again for a long time, if ever. Yet, oddly, no one informed her of why. Usually, teachers knew the circumstances even if they were not allowed to prattle about it to the students, but this time, no one had told Ms. Dojinschi anything. 

So, doing as she always did in such cases, the teacher placed the thought in the back of her mind and told herself to check up on it. Then, she promptly forgot about it in her daily struggle to complete grading papers and homework as well as plan out the class for the next day.

But the Kaibas were not entirely simple to forget. Going shopping for some much-needed food reminded the teacher of what she had promised herself she would do.

The tabloids at the checkout caught Ms. Dojinschi's attention as they normally did, but this time there was a different reason as well. Within the past week, the Kaiba family had been in the headlines no less than four times. Reminded of her desire to seek out the truth, the articles merely provoked her curiosity and made it so she had to learn more.

"Kaiba Seto—genius?—goes insane!" That magazine was a very moderate one, and Dojinschi doubted if it held any truth. These other ones were more likely closer to the real circumstances.

"Sudden disappearance for Japan's leading businessmen! Even by leaving behind a decoy, our reporters discovered the truth! Pictures of the Kaibas being abducted by aliens and the fakes the other species left behind."

Another one had the title: "Back to his origins? Kaiba Mokuba sent back to the orphanage while waiting making the decision to take his brother off life support."

Yet, by far, her favorite was, "Pressure was too great for the 17-year-old CEO when people learned that 12-year-old Mokuba was truly his son."

She bought a copy of each to be safe and set out on her way again. This time, forgetting Kaiba Mokuba was not about to happen.

* * *

The chess match. 

Before, just a mention of that day caused me to grow a little smirk.

Kaiba Gozaburo and his attitude that classified perfectly into my cynical view of the world at age ten. There was no one better to be adopted by than one I so intimately understood already. We were one and the same. Derisive, sarcastic, and bitter. Almost doppelgangers of one another but for the age difference.

For the sake of Mokuba, for the sake of myself, for the mere sake of knocking down this egotistical man, I had to challenge him. Simply, Mokuba's future dreams, my own pride, and Gozaburo's arrogance all added up to a combination that meant there could be no losing. And I knew that before I even challenged him.

If there were ever a doubt in my mind that I would have lost, I would not have done it. Playing the game is pointless if you are not planning on winning.

"Today is the day I'll keep my promise, Mokuba. That guy is the president of Kaiba Corporation. We should become his adopted children. No, he'll adopt us for sure…I'll make him."

How fortunate that Kaiba Gozaburo had even come to our orphanage. Probably, that was the one event in life where luck was anywhere resembling my side. Then again, knowing what followed, luck had probably been high on drugs. With the state of the world, it was not as if I could blame it.

Never should there have been a reason for me to rely on one such as him for even a cast aside crumb of moldy cheese. One day, the world would see what it had done to one forgotten child and cringe as he strode forward in power once more, turning a kind hand to those of his own position and letting them have fun for free.

No.

Only Mokuba's dreams were important to me.

Mokuba's gaze was resting on my back with as much attention he gave to the first crawling ant he had ever seen. And I almost felt his gaze like the path of such an ant, only the footsteps left a blazing trail of fire. I couldn't turn back to make my brother's eyes ever lose their flame of hope.

Planting myself before Gozaburo's path, I gazed at him with the view of the vile world when it regarded us urchins.

"Please adopt my brother and me."

A silence lingered in the air like a puff of smoke from his cigar. "What did you say?" Gozaburo had asked, removing the cigar from his lip in order to guffaw better, glancing once at his subordinates in utter amusement.

"I said, please adopt my brother and me." I paused just long enough to let his mind catch up to my own. "Of course, there should be conditions. First, I'll beat you at chess."

"Heh heh. This is an interesting kid." Gozaburo's eyes narrowed in contempt, laughing. "But it would be too difficult for you to be adopted that way—I'm a six-time world champion, and it's impossible to beat me."

"There's no such thing as impossible."

Another small pause encompassed all of those within a certain perimeter. "You can't win chess by luck."

I was lucky enough to have you come to _my _orphanage, I thought. "It doesn't matter. Will you take the challenge?" Right then, I tried on the glare that would become my future appearance. The expression, so new, did not feel at all awkward but natural in this world of hypocrites.

"You look brave." His own eyes were wholly concentrated on me, and because I knew the look of when one's mind is pattering on ahead like a dog, stopping only occasionally to glance back to make certain its owner was still following, I could already sense his answer. "I accept." Gozaburo turned his back and began walking. Without turning, he added, "I won't go easy on you."

"That's my wish."

And so we played. Everything in my life focused on that win. There I was, ten years old, and I could defeat a champion strategist. That plan had been growing for months since I had seen him play on television, and I had even plotted out what I would be thinking when I challenged Gozaburo. Everything was under my control.

In the end, it didn't seem to matter how advanced he was or whether or not I had even studied him. When it came down to it, I needed, wanted, to win so desperately I would have done anything. As Edgar Allan Poe stated in his "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," it was possible for a novice to beat a master by simply being more concentrated.

That, I surely was. After all, it takes a lot of concentration to cheat at chess without a master realizing it.

For once, a bubble of hope was blossoming within me to give me the idea that there just might be a point to existence, that one could possibly change one's fate. Right then, my half-thought-of dream began to change to a concrete reality. Maybe not just Mokuba's dream could be true. Maybe one of mine could as well.

So I gazed over at Kaiba Gozaburo, and within his dark eyes I saw the fire that was within my soul just waiting to flare out and encompass me.

And I knew a challenge had then begun.


	6. Chapter 6

"Aibou" is the term the Spirit of the Millennium Puzzle uses to refer to Yugi, translated as "partner."

**Chapter 6**

The tall skyscraper soaring over all of Domino still seemed proficient in all its business. But beneath the scuttle of work and appearance of commitment and calmness, the workers were worried and confused. If Mr. Kaiba remained how he was, how would it affect their jobs? Yes, a new owner might not be so hard on them, but a new owner may be less demanding (as Kaiba so often believed a miracle of work could come forth from their hands, the believed plethora closer to the myths of the never-ending water in the chalice than even if they worked constantly for twelve hours) and need fewer people.

But the workers were not the only people worried. One young man had noted Kaiba's absence from school and how Mokuba never answered the phone. Always, it was goons who were "unauthorized to say." Sourly, he wondered what would happen if no one ever authorized them to do anything. Still, Kaiba usually had his reasons, very good ones according to the CEO, for not coming to school or socializing with anyone else in the slightest. So, Kaiba's fellow classmate shrugged it aside, mainly because the others teased him over his "needless worry."

"Kaiba's _always_ doing some big, great thing with his business, Yugi. I'm sure he doesn't want to be interrupted." Jonouchi's thoughts on the missing young man faded instantly as his mouth filled with a large sandwich that needed at least three hands to keep it together long enough for his teeth to tear it apart again.

"You just don't want to be the one to interrupt him!" Honda elbowed Jonouchi right when the sandwich was about to enter the gaping maw, and the two instantly had a small wrestle after the sandwich collapsed.

So, Yugi avoided bringing up the topic again and tried to shut it out of his mind. Doing so was also a relief to his other self who was tired of hearing about Yugi's worries about Kaiba.

"_I'm sure he's just fine, aibou. Besides, you know Kaiba; he wouldn't want us to do anything about it."_ That was what Yugi's other self told him constantly. None of the others seemed any more worried about Mokuba's lack of presence either. Apparently, reprimands of how family business was not for any of the others to worry about had finally sunk into the nerd herd. That just made it more unfortunate that Kaiba was unable to realize it.

Therefore, the circumstances were more of a brief accident than any well-acted plan when Mutou Yugi discovered Kaiba Seto was "staying" in the hospital.

Suguroku had protested his annual check-up for long enough. For some reason, the old man hated going to see any physician, adamant that they were out to tag him with some illness and steal all his money.

Privately, Yugi just knew Suguroku hated being told he needed to lose some weight.

"I don't care about any conspiracies you think there are between the doctors and the pharmacists! You have to at least get yourself checked up to know whether you should even consider throwing away all your money on some newfangled cure!"

The store owner was giving his entire attention to wiping the windows clean, muttering how there would be no need to waste time going to the doctor if certain adolescents would just do their fair of the work around the shop. But, as it was, that merely proved he was fit as could be. After all, Grandpa Mutou managed to get everything finished that needed work even with a grandson prone to vanishing for extended periods of time.

"That's not fair! You know I do my share of the work! You're just frightened of what all the nurses will think when they give you the run-over."

"That's not true, Yugi!"

"Then you're frightened you'll be given a shot."

Suguroku glowered down at his grandson, knowing where this was leading. But there existed no way to sneak out of it. "I am not afraid of shots! Me—an old veteran to the rude strength of doctors jamming in needles of medication?"

Of course, the next words were what always made the old man do as his grandson desired.

"Then _prove_ it."

Yugi's mother was holding a hand over her smile as she listened to Suguroku and Yugi argue. What she was most grateful for, however, was the fact that Yugi was the one dealing with the ornery old man instead of making her take him to the doctor. (1)

Sputtering, Suguroku shook a fist at Yugi. "You're going to be telling me to prove I'm dead one day and what then? You want me to come back from the grave and haunt you just to prove it?"

Trying to keep a straight face, Yugi merely took his grandfather's arm and led him toward the door.

Obviously, since Suguroku hated doctors so much, he did not belong to any clinic, and the two had to go to the hospital every time Yugi managed to convince him to have a check-up.

Other various people looked at the old man arguing and protesting the entire way to the hospital, but they would quickly avert their eyes after a covert glance. Yugi, despite it all, was red.

"Grandpa, I don't care how brave you are. Just keep your tone down, please?"

Oblivious, Suguroku continued to rant, "And you know I'm only doing this for you, so that you'll be convinced I'm just fine, Yugi. An old man like myself learns how healthy he is just by getting up in the morning; doctors have no more intelligence to it than I do. But, being the noble man that I am, I realize that you want official proof, that my own knowledge is nothing. So, don't you be worried, little Yugi. I'll soon be checked-out and rightfully deemed healthy, as I told you I was."

That train of thought continued to cascade out of the old man like water toppled over a cliff without fail, no matter how many rocks Yugi tried to pile in front of it.

Finally, their feet hesitated outside the automatic sliding doors of the entrance to the hospital. Then, realizing his grandpa had become glued to the concrete as if the sun had melted his shoes into a puddle to stick there, Yugi grabbed his arm once more and dragged Suguroku in after him.

Wishing that Suguroku would one day give in and apply to belong to a clinic where all the appointments were less hassled, Yugi managed to find a nurse who knew where they belonged and took her clipboard for his grandfather to sign.

"They want my signature now, too, huh? I'm not that foolish, Yugi! They'll probably use it to buy me all sorts of medications I don't need!"

Yugi looked out of the corner of his eyes at everyone now openly staring at the shouting man. Mentally sighing and hating to hear the sniggering coming from the Puzzle, Yugi gave the clipboard a little jerk to reiterate its presence. "You're going to sign, Grandpa, or I'll sign it for you. We did not just walk all the way here for the exercise!" That part, at least, Suguroku agreed with. Yugi quickly added, "And you're making yourself just seem less capable of taking care of yourself and more requiring of being admitted into a different part of the hospital—the psychiatric ward!"

The nurse had never seen anyone sign a name so quickly, and surprised, she led them to a tiny room to await the nurse that would begin the check-up.

Fortunately, the two did not have to wait long or else Suguroku would have begun another round of protestation.

"Why don't you step over here so I can measure you?" The nurse had evidently worked with reluctant patients before, for she gave a winning smile and grasped the old man's wrist firmly.

Well, in the wake of such a charming young woman, Mr. Mutou was suddenly not so reluctant. But as Yugi was heading out the door, not wanting to be around during the entire procedure, the nurse was telling Suguroku to step on the scale. That caused an entire change of attitude.

"Yugi, help! Where are you going?"

"The bathroom," the young man replied immediately, not looking back. He hoped the nurse would not be in a grumpy mood after his grandfather's visit.

Going to the bathroom was, of course, a lie, and Yugi wandered down the halls a little just to be doing something. Sitting and staring at nothing as he talked with the Spirit of the Puzzle was not the best idea when in the hospital.

Yugi hesitated at the end of the hallway. After casting a look around, he saw something that suddenly made him completely freeze.

Then, just by chance, a nurse was walking Kaiba down the halls to keep his legs working.

Yugi stopped and gaped.

There was no confusing Kaiba with someone else. The CEO still had the same umber hair cascading into the same icy blue eyes that used to hold such depths of remembered pain; the same tall, proud stance; but they way he looked now…it was just wrong. All of how he looked merely made him look like someone trying to impersonate Kaiba, and doing an excellent job of it, but the main portion of the genius was missing.

His spirit was lacking.

"_Aibou, is that Kaiba?"_ Uncertain just of how much the Spirit of the Puzzle knew himself—did he learn things from Yugi's mind or did he somehow see out from where he was?—Yugi ripped the chain off his neck and stared down the hall where Kaiba had vanished to—no, been _led_ down. No doubt remained in Yugi's mind.

Kaiba looked just as he had when his mind was being reformed.

Feeling shocked and betrayed, Yugi went back to his grandfather.

* * *

The luck that had aided Kaiba before apparently had not wholly abandoned him as a joke to all of destiny despite how well it hid during the years. Through such luck, Ms. Dojinschi discovered the truth of the Kaiba family as well. After being reminded of Mokuba from the tabloids, the teacher was anxious to discover more. Since her own school knew little, she decided to call the high school Mokuba's brother went to. Maybe there she could find some answers—all in the name of giving Mokuba the homework he missed, of course. 

The principal had just been transferred to the line when she overheard a conversation that gave everything away.

"If you'll excuse me a moment," the principal apologized, turning his attention to the short student now in his room. Somehow, the student would not take any of the hints of the principal being busy; nor would this student inform anyone else of what was so important. Now, in the presence of the principal, the phone with Dojinschi on the line facedown, Yugi admitted what was on his mind.

"I wanted to have a collection of cards for the Kaibas, both Seto and Mokuba. Since the one is having…difficulties, I thought we could make it a school goal to let Mokuba know our condolences and Seto himself once he recovers." At least, Yugi really hoped the CEO would recover.

The boy appeared familiar to the principal. Well, such a hairstyle was difficult to forget, but there was something else…something missing. Suddenly, his mind had it. A certain golden amulet was absent from around his neck. At least the kid had learned a little fashion sense. But now the principal was certain who this was.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to send Kaiba Mokuba anything, Mr. Mutou, but your idea was very generous. Perhaps once we find out Mokuba's new address you'll be able to do your plan."

"New…address?"

Sighing, the principal rubbed a hand over his face. "I can tell you're their friend, so I will tell you. Regardless, this should go no further. Mokuba is in an orphanage, I'm not sure which, until his brother awakes or he is adopted by someone new."

A silence where only the ticking of the clock on the wall filled the air. As every tick became more pronounced in his mind, Yugi felt like the time was more like an hour glass, the seconds fading away forever.

"Oh."

"The news is to go no further," the principal reiterated with a slightly louder voice.

In the same monotone of before, Yugi automatically replied, "Yes, I know."

Yugi turned to leave and the principal picked up the phone again, unaware of how quickly Dojinschi wrapped up the conversation to get onto future matters.

* * *

The days were crawling by at the same speed time passes when one is awaiting something exciting. Yet, Mokuba had nothing to look forward to. Whenever the future crossed his mind, all he saw was a bleak nothingness filled to the brim with black decay. 

Mokuba had not even been at the orphanage for two days, and already his life seemed unalterably changed, like he could never go back to how he was. What was worse was that he feared he would never be granted a chance to go back to how things were.

The next night's dinner also reiterated the fact that his existence meant a competition between who would hold more power: the orphanage owner or Kaiba Mokuba. Or rather, it was a competition of who would remain strong and who would crumble under the pressure. With the hordes of boys under his dominion already shells of perfect obedience, the history certainly sided with Mr. Guy.

Long lines of scraggly boys passed through the kitchen, and as much as he was reminded of _Oliver Twist_, Mokuba knew their predicament was not as poor. In some ways, Mokuba wished there were problems so he could report them and get free from this prison. But Mr. Guy kept everything just well-off enough that no one could protest.

Continuing with the previous day's attachment, Jumi was following immediately behind Mokuba, nearly clutching his leg like a burr. Then, once they were given their hard biscuit, watery soup, and vegetables that had been turned into painted mush, the two went very carefully to a table. Mokuba helped the younger boy get into his seat without spilling everything and then started eating.

Out of the corner of his eye, almost unconsciously, the younger Kaiba was taking tabs to be certain that Jumi ate everything. Something about the boy's hair-slender arms made it obvious that Jumi needed more sustaining food within him.

"Did you hear what Sven did now, Suke?" The boy carefully nudged his friend and both flicked their eyes in the direction of where Sven slurped his soup alone.

Lower, Suke asked, "What was it this time?"

The first gained a gleeful look on his face, excited to be telling of another's disobedient behavior. The feeling that came from knowing what happened made him feel like a rebel himself, but he never had to be the one punished for it, so it was a winning situation for him.

Curious despite himself, Mokuba continued to watch his own bowl and Jumi's, but his ears and mind were completely attached to the other conversation.

"Well, he tried to run away."

The boy watched Suke's reaction with a grin. Then he added, "Yeah, it's so odd that he'd try to run when he only has to be here a few more years, but, Sven wasn't ever too smart." Both laughed. "And Guy found him before he could get far. I didn't see what it looked like, but I heard that Sven was nearly being rolled on the ground behind Guy. Wouldn't that have been great to see?"

Both were snickering as they looked over at Sven, imagining him experiencing something so undignified as being dragged along behind the orphanage owner.

When Mokuba glanced over at the older boy, however, he was troubled with another thought prone to give him a lot more trouble. Sven, the bully, the older kid, the one wanting to escape…what made him so different from Seto?

More to force his mind out of going down roads he did not want to tread, Mokuba looked down at Jumi and gave a little start at seeing the boy smiling up at him.

"Want my biscuit?"

Half mush from having fallen into the soup and crumbling away into particles too small to be seen as dust, Jumi gallantly offered the hardened tack out to Mokuba. Staring at the gooey substance a little too long, Mokuba quickly shook his head with a smile.

"No, no, I think you need it. You have to eat everything."

Giving a dimpled smile as he jammed most of the slushy portion into his mouth, Jumi just chewed and smiled at Mokuba. The younger Kaiba was already finishing his own food.

Various boys deposited their dishes at a window and vanished to do whatever they desired, but Jumi was still slowly slurping his soup and crumbling his biscuit. Mokuba shoved his own utensils aside and waited as the boy continued to work. The soup, not very warm to begin with, had to be as cold as the look in Mr. Guy's eyes. Soon, the entire place was empty, a desolate camp abandoned and eerily quiet after a bomb had been dropped in the midst of it.

A voice spoke up to make the awkward feeling turn to downright fear. The bomb had just arrived.

"What's this? Not finished, Jumi? Hurry up."

It was Mr. Guy, who had come at the same time as Sven, though the latter had been there previously and left before being escorted back. Now, the delinquent was beginning to clean the tables. With the two of them in the room, the air merely became tenser and harder to breathe. Mokuba thought his lungs had collapsed they were straining so hard, and his heart was yammering to break free of his ribs to go bury itself somewhere safer.

Immediately, Jumi dropped his spoon and announced, "Done."

There was a still a quarter of soup remaining in his bowl, and all his mushy excuses for vegetables were untouched. Still, the boy was beginning to slip over the edge of his place to quickly disappear like a chipmunk suddenly alerted of danger.

This was something Mokuba knew was intolerable. And, thinking once more of his older brother, though he hated to believe it was because of the presence of Seto's two similar souls—Mr. Guy and Sven—he knew he could never feel worthy of being Seto's brother if he did not do what would make his brother proud.

Not even looking at the boy, but instead Mr. Guy, Mokuba said, "I think you should finish that, Jumi."

The five-year-old paused one moment at Mokuba's words, but then, after looking around and meeting Mr. Guy's eyes, he continued to climb down the old, rickety chair.

Mokuba reached out to grab his arm, saying in a warning tone, "Jumi…"

"What, oniichan?" His midnight blue eyes mournfully peered into Mokuba's. The orphan's racing heart and frantic look in his eyes was more reminiscent of a rodent waiting to flee than a young boy needing more food in his system.

"You should eat, Jumi. You can't possibly be full—you barely ate anything."

Staring at the ground avoiding all eyes, he whispered very softly, "Mr. Guy is mad."

"So what?" Mokuba's own voice was normal, eyes now remaining on the boy. "Ignore him. He can't hurt you."

There was one silent moment while Jumi debated.

Mr. Guy was dead silent, his very eyes daring anyone to move. The fury held in check was like a roaring waterfall gathering pressure and force behind a dam. Soon, the emotion and rage would overflow, drowning everyone in its might. Sven, all pretense of washing tables abandoned, merely gaped at what was going on between the orphanage owner and one other orphan, though the battle was not even between Mr. Guy and the hungry little boy, but the new orphan behind Jumi.

Jumi's eyes darted from one taut face to the other, knowing who had the true power and yet knowing who he idolized. Once being a boy with his own personality, Mokuba and Guy had transformed him into a symbol of power and control, a thing to manipulate and prove a point about. While Jumi did not understand that, Sven's eyes began to narrow as he realized exactly what was happening between the two, and the teen did not like knowing how Jumi's own behavior and instincts were being used.

In the end, Jumi did as his oniichan had instructed and crawled back to his seat. Hardly higher than the sound of a spider spinning silk, Jumi breathed, "Okay."

Hovering nearby, his very presence enough to unease the child, Mr. Guy cast a few scowling looks their way as he paced. Each footfall seemed to take years to descend and clump down, and each step was like the ever-present ticking of the clock. Such a well-devised torture, that being to listen to the monotonous sounds of dripping water. The Chinese water-torture certainly knew the art of going completely still and waiting for the next descent…would it come? Yes, it would, but the interminable wait stressed the listener every time.

"Get cleaning, Sven," Mr. Guy snapped. The teen quickly got back to work cleaning all the tables but the island where Mokuba and Jumi drifted.

Mr. Guy resumed his pacing with an oily smile back in place.

"You seem to be having difficulties finishing that, Jumi. Maybe"—here the man paused—"you're full."

Uneasily, Jumi looked from Mr. Guy to Mokuba, the latter outright glaring and the former appearing concerned with his small smirk.

Jumi ducked his head, stirring his soup and staring at a spot on the table that was slightly darker than the others. All his utter concentration was on the spot and nothing more as he wished he were someplace else.

"Stop harassing him." Mokuba's tone was still the same, ordering obedience.

Guy chuckled lowly as a threat, breaking the still, tense air that one could have shattered with a needle's point. "Who's in charge here, little pest? You're no longer a 'Kaiba' to even pretend to have any extra control."

"Let him eat or it's child abuse. And I won't hesitate to inform the authorities of it. Unless you're going to hold me captive."

The small silence emphasized that even Sven had ceased to wipe off tables once more. This time, Mr. Guy did not reprimand him.

A sickly sweet smile adorned the orphanage owner's face now. "Why would you ever think that, Kaiba Mokuba? Haven't I been only accommodating to your every desire and need here, however whimsical? After all, it is so difficult to please one who is so used to better, but I think everyone knows how hard and futilely I attempt to do just that. But if you won't ever be satisfied, I think we could come to an arrangement. How do you feel about my little toy stick?" His run of eloquent words contrasted with the hard glint in his dark eyes.

When Mokuba added nothing more, Mr. Guy gave an appeasing smile and a mocking bow before swirling and pacing out.

Silent, heart-pounding, Mokuba stared after him for a little while. Then, working to clear the sour air of the stench of tension, he urged Jumi to continue eating. When the boy was finally finished, they left the room for Sven to finish cleaning and went to get ready for bed.

When the two were absent from the room, when he was finally completely alone, Sven stopped his cleaning and dug his nails into his palms. Gritting his teeth and wearing a livid expression, he burst out lowly, "Stop it! Stop using Jumi like he's an object and not a boy! I won't stand for anyone to use others that way. You're just like your pathetic brother, Kaiba! You don't care who you use as long as you prove your power. Well, do it again, and I won't hesitate to show you mine." He held up one of his fists, the dripping, soapy water having a slightly pink taint to it then.

* * *

(1): If you hadn't noticed, I have been basing this story on the Japanese storyline, and you see Yugi's mom more in that version, but she does exist! 


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

No words were spoken, but there were endless amounts of dialogue going on.

Gozaburo's face never turned from straight ahead where he sat in the front of the limousine.

Truly, the front. The arrogant chess _master_ had gone immediately to the front seat after his defeat, choosing to sit next to a servant instead of his newly-adopted sons. And once there, he refused to speak to us or even look back at us. I was certain the affluent man knew I was watching because he never gave me the satisfaction of seeing him glance back in the review mirror. And I watched him the entire trip.

Oh, yes, the competition had indeed started.

In the ranks of competitors, too many were worth nothing of the valuable seconds I gave to read their names. But here, Gozaburo, and as much as I detested him, _Yugi_, were the only couple I knew would ever battle me with everything they had. Their very souls, even. That was what I wanted.

My entire life had been and would continue to be a battle for survival as I shouldered and pushed my way through the ranks of cold, heartless crowds with no glances back to see if my push toppled them or even staggered them. And as I dragged my brother along with me, assessing always what was needed to rise a little higher, I learned not to waste time with imbeciles whose skills were not what made them what they were but instead that biased luck.

To beat me, someone had to put into the gambit a collection of effort and determination that would equal what I had had to put forth ever since my birth. To nothing else would I _ever_ allow defeat.

And yet…I still made my greatest mistake ever.

* * *

Shutting the car door, she wondered why the sound did not slam her to the hard dusty ground. In such a lifeless, frozen area, anything that brought attention seemed shocking enough to send out ripples that would forever change the world. 

Ms. Dojinschi's ripples traveled far off ahead to the orphanage, their trembling movements and filaments of sounds strung as crystallized strands of the finest, most fragile substance echoing in the ears of countless boys. And that substance they not only heard resounding in their ears but also felt pattering frantically in their hearts was what they feared the most: hope.

"Are you here to adopt a child?" Mr. Guy asked of the approaching woman. Not only had she managed to snag his attention, but every child within sight of her, except one, was staring with their deep, dark eyes that reflected their cold and yet yearning view of the world. Not the teacher, not the surroundings did they reflect, but an internal camera of their very souls.

Ms. Dojinschi stopped and nodded, slightly uneasy now that she was finally here. "I…would like to see, yes."

Dojinschi had been planning on adopting a child for some time, the convenience of it in the present situation enough to make her completely uncomfortable, as if fate were leading her by a string to a certain road. She had no doubt Kaiba Mokuba was on that road. After what she had learned of his predicament, it seemed like something else was controlling her _destiny_ to find her old student and at least talk with him.

So, to prepare for the orphanage, the teacher had gone to the hospital first. No one allowed her to see Kaiba Seto, of course, but she had stuck around long enough to walk by the door multiple times, trying to glance in. When that failed, she was about to give up once more before fate decided to astound her yet again.

Like Yugi before, a nurse was walking him down the hallway to keep his legs semi-functional. The astounded woman had stopped and stared, despite the nurse's scowl and how she shoved the rolling wall along in a different way to block the teacher's view of the spellbound CEO. But what Ms. Dojinschi had seen was enough.

Shaking her head free of the memories, giving a little shiver as the unnerving images, feeling like ice, passed out of her skin once more, the teacher cast her eyes around Mr. Guy's orphanage.

Nothing was so extravagant or so dismal to catch her utter attention, but a certain head of shiny black hair did make her eyes pause in their survey of the place.

Over in a nearby sandbox, hardly able to believe his eyes, sat Mokuba. His _teacher_ was here. Despite how little sense it truly made, all the young Kaiba could think of was one thing. Could her presence mean…?

Yet, in spite of his sudden thoughts, or probably because of them, Mokuba sat rigidly with no movement where he was, quiescent enough to be a rabbit waiting for the predator to pass by. His heart was beating just as quickly as a rabbit's as well.

"What about these children?" she asked as Mr. Guy was leading her around. One short, delicate finger pointed to Mokuba in the sandbox. As usual, Jumi was sitting with him. They were making sand castles, or so they both claimed.

"Look at mine, oniichan!" Jumi proudly displayed his big pile of sand, which was all it was: a pile. Then, in a finishing flourish, he added a small indent to the top of the mound.

Mokuba looked up from where he had forced himself to add windows to his easternmost tower and gave a small smile. "That's neat, Jumi."

So enthralled, the younger boy did not notice the approaching two adults. In fact, it had been his very two midnight blue eyes that were the only ones not caught in the Medusa's gaze of the arrival of the potential-parent.

Suddenly, a voice near him was saying, "This is Mokuba and Jumi. I'm…_sorry_ to say that Mokuba is not yet able to be adopted." Mr. Guy's voice could hardly have been any less insinuating. A small bit of a smile played at the edges of his mouth as he put a thumb and forefinger on either side of it, stroking a goatee had he had one.

The teacher feigned ignorance of anything she suspected or knew. Not even on seeing Mokuba did Dojinschi give any reaction to his presence. With such a man as Mr. Guy, it was not difficult to be pretending stupidity. She was a woman, and that was enough to do the job. "What do you mean?"

Mr. Guy pulled her off to the side with a sideways smirk at the young Kaiba. Then he spoke in a hardly-discernible slower voice, "He's awaiting a month-long trial to see if his brother ever goes back into his right…mind. Don't worry; return in a couple of weeks, and I'm _positive_ you'll be able to adopt him." Whether that information was to be private or not, the orphanage owner had a perverse enjoyment spilling the news to everyone he possibly could.

She shook her head, still looking over at the sandbox, pretending to ignore Mr. Guy's slimy, yet gleeful tone. "Poor Mokuba." Then, Dojinschi walked over to the two boys, wondering if destiny had wanted her to do this as well…

Ever since he had heard the nearby voices, Jumi had gone oddly silent and still. Now, with the teacher bending down to both of them, he wriggled behind his older brother and clutched at the striped shirt, burying his face into Mokuba's back. Blinking, Mokuba wasn't certain what to do.

"Hello, my name is Kaede." She looked curiously and then mournfully at the hiding Jumi, but Dojinschi transferred her gaze to Mokuba's gray eyes. One of her hands was absently playing with the sand castle and adding little twigs for flags.

Taken aback by being introduced to his teacher by her first name, Mokuba concluded she had a reason to keep her true relation to him private. "Say 'hi' to…Kaede, Jumi." But the boy would not even look up. With an apologetic look, Mokuba put an arm awkwardly over Jumi's back adding, "It's okay, Jumi." Then he gave a small shrug at his teacher.

The teacher's brown eyes drew Mokuba into their heavy depths, and she whispered, "I went to see your brother the other day."

Mokuba's arm over Jumi stiffened, resembling more a dead tree's creaking, dry limb than that of a young human's. Still, her dark eyes held his, but not at all like a mother held a child—it seemed more like how quicksand slowly drew one down into it, choking off all cries as Mokuba awaited what dreadful news she would inflict upon his hoping ears.

"He was…unresponsive, Mokuba. And I hardly had a glance of him. They keep him well hidden." Kaede Dojinschi hesitated, breaking eye contact and thus the binding Mokuba suffered under her liquid chocolate conveyors of emotion. "Is there anything I can do?"

Anything she could do…

Wanting to laugh or cry or do both at once, Mokuba turned back to Jumi slightly, his face steady. "I doubt it." He pretended to be trying to turn Jumi around to avoid thinking about how thick his voice sounded in the brittle air.

"I thought you were here to investigate adoptable children, not socialize with the ones off limits." With another of his timely pauses, Mr. Guy amended softly, sinisterly, "For now, of course."

With Mr. Guy trying to get Dojinschi to look at more "worthwhile" orphans, she merely gave a small smile to Mokuba before letting the man lead her away.

For a few moments, Mokuba stayed as stiffened and tense as he had been before, but with one deep, shuddering breath, his body sagged. With a slight burning behind his eyes, the boy stared fixedly at the ground, waiting to regain control of his raging emotions.

Jumi peeked his head out from where it had been implanted in the young Kaiba's back as if he had been trying to become an ostrich and Mokuba's back was the sandy ground.

"Is she gone?" he whispered.

"Yes, it's all right. She's gone." Then, softly, ignoring all other suffocating thoughts, Mokuba continued, "Why didn't you want to even look at her?"

The boy was silently crushing his castle and running his fingers through the heavy sand. Tiny grains clung to his flesh to later sprinkle down like bits of cinnamon to his clothing that had been clean that morning. Jumi gave no answer.

"Because he's a spineless twerp, that's why. Haven't you wondered what he's still doing here? But I prefer him over you, _Kaiba._" Such a bossy voice full of utter detestation could only mean one person because Mr. Guy always sounded falsely pleasant. It sounded like Sven was talking about a scent of rotten eggs mixed with a skunk's spray. "And I want to know what she was doing chatting to you, oh most honorable richie. What, were you planning a legal deal in which she agrees to adopt you if you pay her?"

Sven put his hands on his hips and glared down at Mokuba. Then, with a swiftness that was unfathomable to one so rooted, deep as a dandelion stalk, Mokuba was jerked to his feet by the stronger, older boy.

"I want you on your feet! No excuses for being unable to stand up to a pathetic poor boy. I don't want to look down on you, and I don't want you to look down on me; here, we're equal, and it will be because we are equal that I will appreciate whipping you down all the more."

_Why does that sound like something my brother would have said long before…?_

Jumi was clutching his shirt once more, and as much as Mokuba wanted to try to attack the fifteen-year-old, it would not have been prudent. Thoughts already jerked back painfully to his brother, Mokuba remembered how Seto had only ever fought other bullies when Mokuba himself was in danger or when he was absent. Or, rather, when Seto thought he had been absent. Trying to separate a Celtic knot into the beginning and ending was impossible, which exactly portrayed the two brothers.

In a taunting voice, much like a younger person would do when he discovered another person's note from a sweetheart, Sven jibed, "What's the matter, Kaiba? How can anything in your life be wrong? Or do you admit that your perfect life isn't quite so perfect, that money doesn't equal happiness? I'm not surprised. I'm just surprised it took you so long to figure it out." With a sneer, Sven turned slightly as if he was about to wind up with a baseball bat to take a swing at the fast pitch, only Mokuba's face was going to be the baseball.

However, he turned immediately into Mr. Guy.

"I thought I told you to keep sweeping," he said in a sinisterly soft voice. It wasn't accusing at all, but the tone was creepy in itself.

"I-uh, well…" Gulping, Sven backed away, helplessly groping for the broom he had left thirty feet in the other direction.

"Next time, don't leave your job." Mr. Guy's eyes never left Sven.

Mokuba had been slowly backing away to leave all of this behind, wondering which was worse: being beaten up by Sven or being in Mr. Guy's debt. What he hated the most was that he had just been thinking how Seto always saved him from bullies…

When Mr. Guy turned back to him, the man's face cleared any confusion Mokuba held over the matter of which predicament was worse. "And you, Kaiba, make certain you stay indoors from now on. I don't want prospective…_parents_ seeing you until they can adopt you." Then, with a final smile to put an adequate end to his slimy voice, the man headed back indoors.

And Mokuba stood for a long time, ignoring the nervous Jumi as the young Kaiba's thoughts swirled in a typhoon, past and present mixing together to form a jumbled salad in which the character of "nii-sama" was difficult to discern from "intimidating" and "cruel."

* * *

As she drove home, the images and memories from her brief stay at the orphanage became every person that walked down the street. The biker who cast a glance back at her had a mournful face full of memories that it never should have seen. The trees blowing gently in the wind, leaves rustling, became the whispers of the boys as they stared at her, hardly daring to move. The changing-to-red signal lights reminded her of the heavy gate she had gone through to go back to her life, her world, her place. Such heavy gates for such tiny boys with small dreams and hopes. 

Kaede Dojinschi could not understand why such heavy gates were needed in the orphanage where the boys had already been imprisoned within themselves.

She would go back. Soon, but not too soon. The scars on her spirit, though already healing, would remain for a long time after her visit, and the deep pit in her stomach left her feeling ill for several days.

Such a heavy, tall gate…

* * *

Yes, I had defeated Gozaburo. But the man still held my esteem. We were so very alike. But what mostly made him stand out from the hypocritical crowd was that he had taken responsibility. Did he not stick to his word, silently accepting two parentless children to come into his great mansion and live off the dregs of his feasting table? He had done even more than that. Gozaburo was going to educate me. I was worth his time. Unlike the orphanage that had merely dragged us in and suffered our presence, Gozaburo was going to go through the trouble of straightening out my mind. And as many philosophes of the Enlightenment thought, the utter delicate beauty of endeavoring to find more meaning and reason in the world was a priceless gift. 

Still, it was more than that. How could I ever have stumbled so far off from my rambling path to commit my worst error ever?

Mokuba had me to look up to and lean on in times of strife. I was his to seek solace in and to remove all cares from his young brow. And I? I had to be the one who was always strong, always on top, always one step ahead of the bullies, always ready for anything, always optimistic, always encouraging, always aiding, always…

Once, when a raging fever and influenza had gone through the orphanage, Mokuba had fallen sick, shivering and sweating throughout the night as he tossed and turned, seeing images that made him whimper occasionally.

There at his bedside, as the world spun about me and my own eyes longed to rest, my own stomach clenched and reviled whatever it had clutched within its sharp hands, I learned what it meant to stick to my promise, my oath, my binding.

During that night, after Mokuba had retched up yet again, nothing left in his quivering stomach that it could protest against, he looked up at me with his violet-gray eyes, bags under them casting them in a darker light.

Croaking out in his young voice, my little brother asked, "Are you all right, Seto?"

Never was there a pause or hesitation as I immediately replied to my brother, my little sibling who was asking after my own health as he was so ill, so sick and still taking more and more of my energy from me as I tried to hide the fever in my face and dull eyes and help him through this raging illness, "Of course I'm all right. Now get back in bed."

Being a man was difficult. And now, however I regret it, there was an intense longing to be appreciated for who I was. Not as a parent up to whom Mokuba looked, but as an individual with talents and needs of my own.

_Being a parent at the age of ten was finally wearing on me._

Yet, stubborn, dogged fool that I was, I would never have given in but for Kaiba Gozaburo. Here at last was a place I could rest and where I did not have to worry about Mokuba. I didn't have to be the parent for one slight rest, just a brief moment to catch my breath…_because now I had one of my own_.

Not "niisama," but…perhaps "oniichan." My brother could have a different father now. And…so could I.

What an idiot I was.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Life was not all bad…especially not at first when my hopes were brimming to the top of my overflowing boiling pot of a mind and refusing to cool off.

Sure, the competition continued, but continuing in that was amusement to me. A sport similar to the one Gozaburo played with me; for immediately on arriving at the mansion, I could see what sort of game this all was to him—the CEO of Kaiba Corporation.

Two children with one bag each coming to live in a huge mansion with so many rooms filled to the rim of collectible, fancy decorations bought merely to take up space…we were more than merely out of place; we were fish out of water, turtles without a shell, birds with no feathers, a violinist with no fingers, a drummer who had lost the beat, a dancer with no rhythm, a singer with no voice…

But I would never give _him _the satisfaction of knowing that.

That first day, as Mokuba walked behind me clutching my shirt tightly, I followed the butler into the place, hearing the ominous echoing of feet daring to tread where there usually existed only silence. The sound of a child's voice drifted where strict rules forbid any laughter or any remembrance of a different child…but I did not know about that then. Optimism soared abound in one boy's mind where dreams were forbidden and only stern obedience was allowed. 

A youthful, enthusiastic spirit had arrived at the grinning gates of Disappointment, of Anguish, of Misery…of yet again, another version of _hell_.

I was determined not to let my brother know that was where we were.

* * *

Yugi's mother stood outside her son's door, tempted to press her ear to the closed entrance (was her son _talking_ to someone in there?), but the arrival of Suguroku halted any devious plans on her part. 

Grandpa Mutou had the ironic feeling that he had just interrupted something…not expressly allowed. Now, that pleased him because he was tired of all the times his daughter-in-law had caught him breaking the strict new diet the doctor had given him. Now he could return the favor.

"What are you doing just standing there? I always have plenty of work to do in the shop. You'd think someone my age wouldn't have to beg from those whose bodies are much limber to get a little help in the work that keeps food on the table."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Your work keeps food on the table?" Seeing the expression on Suguroku's face, she wisely kept from commenting on her own job. "Too much food, I think. You haven't had any cookies, have you?"

"That's none of your business! Why don't you tell me what you're doing outside Yugi's room?" Suguroku knew he had her; she did not even have any cleaning utensils to aid in a lie about something like that.

"I-well…he's been acting strange!"

Both of them turned suddenly to the door as the one spoken of popped out his morose face. Neither could say a word of excuse.

"Mom, Grandpa, I can hear you, you know. I know you've been there awhile, Mom, listening." The old man shot a triumphant look at his daughter-in-law, but Yugi turned to him and added, "And you _have_ been eating cookies, Grandpa. I counted them. But if you don't mind, I'd like it if you just argued about me somewhere else."

The adolescent closed his door again, leaving the two adults looking from the door to each other.

Finally, the young man's mother turned toward Suguroku. "What was it you needed help with, Dad?" Besides staying on your diet, she finished in her head.

As the two both walked away, they each made a mental note to watch Yugi more closely. If he remained in this depressed state much longer, they would have to step in and adamantly force him to talk about what was bothering him. But there was no hurry to do that. Adolescents had such random mood swings, after all, and neither wanted to be on the brunt of Yugi's anger when he finally burst, as they knew _all_ teenagers did eventually.

* * *

Looking after the vanishing teacher with a glare, Sven balled one hand into a fist. No one ever cast him even a glance from where he stood on the porch that never ceased to gather dust and dirt from the little collection of riffraff. Sweeping it was pointless. 

Heavy steps from within halted near him. Just by the ominous sound, Sven could identify the dragon breathing hotly down his back. Not flaming yet and probably would not, but the risk was always there to make any interaction more threatening. He, however, did not turn or move to sweep.

"If you're not going to be adopted, you ought to be obeying my command and do your fair share around here." That soft voice correctly proved the feet to belong to Mr. Guy. The orphanage owner was watching with his arms crossed, seeming very at ease.

Finally, Sven could engage in the mini silent battle no longer. Unlike an animal of prey, a predator could not wait forever; it had to be the one to launch the attack and pounce.

"I only work if I'm getting paid!"

A slow smile came across the owner's face. "What kind of payment would you like?"

Such a phrase was an obvious threat. In a burst of rage, Sven shouted, "It's not fair! You never give me the chance to be adopted! You make me work and everyone thinks I am not even up for adoption!"

"Well…" Mr. Guy took one step forward, his voice still low as he said, almost thoughtfully, "Older children are so rarely adopted. You wouldn't want to be a burden on this orphanage, now, would you? If I make you work, it is for the good of this place. Besides, I have never told anyone you aren't up for adoption. I can't understand why no one wants the bully sent to sweep and clean for punishment. Or would you rather I said the _so utterly_ helpful obedient boy who always volunteers to help an aging owner?" The sarcasm in his voice was like a snake slowly tightening and choking all his words with the emotion.

Flinging down the broom, the youth stalked away. Mind or verbal games were not for him to play and hope to win, and for once, Sven was not too proud to admit it.

A small chuckle with the same purpose as the beeped warning before a bomb goes off sounded. "Not so fast." One hand snaked out to grab the teen and hold him tightly. The sinisterly low voice seemed to betray the strength the man hid in his arms. "You'll do as I tell you until you are adopted or sent out of here in three years. You'd best learn respect and obedience now, for the rest of the world won't wait for you to learn it." The hot voice of unwanted truth wormed its way into his ear all the way to his frustrated, confused mind and began gorging itself on the loopy, noodle-like mass.

Every movement costing him heat in the face, Sven reached down to retrieve the broom he had flung. Then, stiffly, he went back to his chore of keeping the orphanage clean and ready for any visitors.

The rest of the boys hardly noticed the disruption caused by the trouble-maker.

* * *

A man like Gozaburo could only possibly take so much disappointment. No doubt he found me despicable. Well, I had "won" a match to him in chess. He would never let me live it down. 

It was not so much that he said this aloud. Instead, I could detect it in every scowl swiftly sent my way or in the perverse joy he had when I answered something not to his satisfaction. Too many questions he asked were for the mere fact of me saying a wrong answer.

"Not paying attention, hmm, boy? Well, if you don't keep your mind on your studies, you won't be staying here much longer. I don't suffer ignorant fools in my presence, Seto."

My name was always a curse word to that man, but I never responded to him those first days, I never complained or wept or cursed; I just thought of one boy's smile and dreams as he had whispered them to me at night in the orphanage, and then I was positive, I utterly _knew_ that this road was the only one leading forward.

Did I regret cheating at that chess game just so I could live here? Never. As long as I was the only one who suffered, everything worked out for the best. As long as Mokuba's dreams were still graspable, all my personal torment was all still worthwhile. Not a day went by when I didn't smirk at the thought of my superior brains against Gozaburo. Not just anyone could cheat in a game of chess against a master and go undetected, and my pride in that was part of what kept me strong through it all. That, and my loss of listening to my feelings or showing them at all. The smirk was my shield in the waging war. Besides, if I didn't keep the smirk on, if I didn't keep reminding myself that I had fooled him, Gozaburo would have won. And I would never allow that.

At least, that was what I told myself later.

* * *

Time did not stop for one boy's misery. Already, about nine of the thirty days to when Mokuba would be adoptable had passed. Yet, no change occurred in his brother's condition. Mokuba was still stuck under Mr. Guy's lazy leer for an interminable amount of time. 

Mr. Guy was growing silently smugger. A smile cast at Mokuba from across the room was enough for the young Kaiba to know what he was referring to. The words, "Soon, little nuisance, little Kaiba, you won't be able to hide away from the buyers, you won't get to live in my place for free. I'll be able to send you away to a truly _good _family, one that will make certain your ego is not too big to fit into your miniscule brain" constantly came to Mokuba's mind when the two made eye contact. Such thinking was growing obsessive, but the adolescent did not even attempt to curb it; not the obsessive thoughts on Mr. Guy's hatred and scheming mind nor on his own brother still withering away in a hospital…To Mokuba, everything referred back to his brother. And he did not mean the swiftly-attaching Jumi.

When Jumi had gone to bed before him a previous night, Mokuba had heard of how Jumi's family had died from Suke.

"Jumi? He's here from fire trouble at night. His parents and sister died in the fire, and his older brother, who had been sharing Jumi's room, helped Jumi out. Yet, this brother later died of smoke inhalation." Suke had shrugged. "I think that was his story, anyway."

Just like that, and all his family was gone. He had been at the orphanage a little over a year, and it was mainly his fear of strangers that kept him there. Or so Mokuba had thought at the time and still believed.

"After all," said Mokuba, looking at the boy sleeping as he leaned against the young Kaiba, "someone this…_cute_ should have been gone a long time ago." Then he sighed. Things did not work that way…Mokuba was still uncertain about the circumstances regarding his and Seto's stay at the orphanage…but he did not want to contemplate on that right then, and so, he squirmed a little, hating that he was awakening Jumi, but wanting more for his mind to get off the subject of why no one had wanted to adopt him.

The young boy stirred. "Oniichan? Can we eat breakfast? I smell rolls!"

A small smile crossed Mokuba's face. "Yes, Jumi."

"Then can we play a game?"

"Sure."

With that, the smaller boy raced to get dressed and drag Mokuba to the kitchen area. Even with the added excitement, it still took a long time for Jumi to finish eating, and by the time they settled back into the room to look at the scantily few games, most of the rest of the boys were awake.

"What do you want to play, Jumi?" Staring at the disarray of puzzles and board games that had exchanged pieces and figurines, Mokuba wondered if the rules of the games had been changed with the new paraphernalia added or taken away from each set.

"How about this?" The boy grabbed a nearby box and proudly held it out. Then, he quickly plopped to the ground and tore off the cover, freeing pieces and spilling them everywhere.

The game he chose was chess.

After Jumi had made a big enough mess and taken some of the pieces of a toy soldiers set, he glanced up at the motionless Mokuba who had sat abruptly five minutes before. "How do we play?"

"Um…" Mokuba bit his lip. He wasn't certain he wanted to teach Jumi this game.

The other boy seemed to sense his hesitation, for he looked imploringly up at Mokuba, one hand on Mokuba's knee as he leaned forward, head getting very close to the Kaiba's.

"This game may be too complicated…" Jumi did not respond. "The rules are tricky, Jumi."

All he received was a wide-eyed stare, much like a begging puppy. Finally, caving in, Mokuba set up the board correctly (minus any toy soldiers determined to crawl onto the board) and attempted to explain to a five-year-old how to play the game of chess. Such a task certainly was not simple.

"I like this one!" Jumi exclaimed, holding up the figure of the queen. "And I'll go here!"

Of course, that move was illegal even for the queen, who could move the most out of any of the pieces.

To correct the boy or leave him be…

"No, Mokuba, you can't do that. The king can only move this way." Seto's finger had traced out a block one space wide around the king.

"Okay, I'll go here!"

The boy had glanced up with a smile at his older brother, legs kicking idly under the table. For some reason, Seto had had a little smile on his face, which merely had made Mokuba's sweet curve go wider.

"Sorry, Mokuba, but now I'll go here. Checkmate."

While Mokuba had not ever understood the game enough to plan much, he had always enthusiastically joined his brother in set after set, simply relishing in the time with Seto and how his brother kept teaching him the rules over and over again, always patient.

…Now, the Kaiba had to return the lesson to this boy.

"Actually, uh, that piece can't go there, Jumi."

The boy's face fell as he looked confusedly at the board. "Oh. Where can it go?"

Mokuba studied the board and pointed out all the places the queen could move. Jumi picked one and instantly began waiting impatiently for Mokuba to go. Had Mokuba ever been like this? Right then, he was not too certain about how he had acted in the orphanage.

After just a few turns, the young orphan was casting his eyes about the room for better entertainment. Jumi's attention span was short, and for the first time, Mokuba was beginning to realize how unique his relationship with his brother was. Not just any five-year-old would be interested in playing chess for hours on end. And it took a special teacher to keep up enthusiasm even when the trainee kept losing, game after game…

In the middle of the game, Jumi sat a book down on the floor, crawled into Mokuba's lap—upsetting the chessboard—and begged the adolescent to read to him.

Mokuba gladly complied, quickly forgetting about the chessboard and all the painful memories it brought with it.

* * *

Later that night, a small scuffling noise drifted from the doorway. Still awake, Mokuba's eyes strayed over to the sound to see the silhouette of a hunched person. Unaware of his audience, Sven trooped over to his bed and collapsed into it, turning his back to everyone as the world had already done to him. The posture looked familiar… 

From one of the earlier days at Gozaburo's house, Mokuba could still hear the sound of his brother and Hobson, the butler. Their argument had been loud enough in the silent house that when Mokuba had awakened to get a drink, he had padded down the hall to see what was going on.

"Making me slave away when I'm so exhausted won't make me any smarter any faster."

"Master Seto, I think we have different opinions on that. And you have no reason to be exhausted. You're behind in your studies already and should find all of this rather simple. If you can't stay awake, you have poor control."

And, as Mokuba thought now, it was probably the comment on control that had made Seto say nothing more.

Outside the door where he had gazed down the darkened hallway with wide eyes, Mokuba had wondered if he should step into the narrow rectangle of light coming from the partially open door. For some reason, the light had seemed to be treacherous, seemed not at all like the blessed sun's warmth that would reflect in his hair and eyes. This light had glimmered sinisterly, ready to devour anyone who went into it. And so lost in his imagination for however long, Mokuba had barely managed to dash back down the hall and into the nearest room when steps had tread over to the door.

"Go get some blessed rest then, Mast Seto. Just remember; I'll be there to awaken you in the morning. You don't see me complaining, do you?"

The butler had waddled down the hallway, acute eyes for once not picking up on the small breathing boy in one of the many extra rooms in the mansion. Instead, Hobson had gone by to wherever he stayed.

Slower to exit, slower to trudge down the hall like an old man, had come his brother. Normally, the boy would have been quick to walk next to him and pipe out little observations or questions in his high voice, but that…just wasn't his brother.

So, he had waited and padded after the brother-imposter and finally just stood in Seto's doorway that the adolescent had forgotten to close all the way. Then, Mokuba merely had looked in.

Seto had already collapsed in his bed, silhouetted in the moon's pale, slender light. His body had been curled slightly in the fetal position, exhaustion adorning his face even as it sought a peaceful interlude from the mansion that sought to eat him alive of his complete willpower, drain him of all emotion. Even in the quick sleep snatching his body, the blue bags under his eyes had made him seem much older, much feebler than the Seto he knew. Quickly, Mokuba had hurried back to his own room.

Slowly, as the memory faded, Mokuba's eyes went back to the window he looked out near his bed and put one hand to the back of his head.

For about the twentieth time just that night, Mokuba pulled out his necklace and down at his brother's smiling face.

_I wish you would wake up, Seto, and show me. Show me how you're so different from Sven and Mr. Guy._


	9. Chapter 9

One note: "mou hitori no boku" means "other me" and is what Yugi calls the Spirit of the Puzzle (writing it as "other me" just doesn't sound right). And again, "aibou" means partner, being what the Spirit calls Yugi.

**Chapter 9**

Gozaburo started his education program, and it was like he had to open my scalp and literally puncture and shove all the information into my writhing, dully-pounding brain. Every subject had "advanced" lesson plans that he himself instructed me in, a riding crop always prepared under his gleeful face. Even with the hint of abuse awakening an awareness to its presence, always almost seeing the threat from the corner of my eye like a flash of a spectral phantom, I did not despair. Had I not won to this man before at his own game? That thought kept me strong in continuing onward. That, and my brother.

Mokuba. If it were not my own dreams still formulating and beginning to clamber in the back of my mind despite my attempts to keep them quiet, there were his and the vow I had sworn silently every day as I looked at his black head crowned in light. Light and hope and dreams.

He had an easier time in the mansion, not being sent through the same rigorous "exercises of the mind" I was, so it was not as if Mokuba always had to be holding onto to me or doing something with me during the time there. Sometimes, the mere presence of me in the room was enough for him. The way Mokuba would just come sit in the same room when allowed, doing nothing much but being there. For me it was a loving presence to balance with the growing awareness of the violent persona. For him, it was to satisfy his doubts, doubts that seemed to be rising up in order to overwhelm me with their mercilessness, like when he would creep over to open the door to my bedroom at night just to check on me, as if I would forget the years of responsibility and suddenly, in a spree of impulsiveness, abandon him sometime without warning.

He obviously did not know me as well as he thought.

After all, my brother had once told me years after the torture, "If the past can still be changed, I want niisama to be the one who always wore a smile."

That past was before you were born, kid.

* * *

Ms. Dojinschi had told him nothing hopeful about his brother at all. Apparently, his brother was still in the same condition. And the longer Mokuba was away and unable to see or hear any fluttering words of hope, the days slipped past like water over a rock. The light of the glimmering surface was a distant glint that was unreachable, especially with no way to float or swim. 

At the orphanage years ago, Mokuba knew he had experienced similar feelings, but not too similar. After all, his older brother had been there for him then. For about the two-hundredth twenty-seventh time that day, Mokuba pulled out the picture that had been taken in a place very similar to this one and gazed at his brother's smiling face.

And here…with Sven and Mr. Guy seeming to embody all the aspects of his brother that he recalled so intently, Mokuba was beginning to doubt his brother even wanted to wake up from whatever strange loss of consciousness Seto was in.

Maybe…Mokuba dared to begin thinking, if I were to visit him I could help.

Then the boy sighed. I'll never get out of this place. _Please_, wake up, niisama.

* * *

Yugi stared at the Puzzle sitting ominously on the desk. It was still a whole pyramid…for the moment. 

The questioning aura emitted from the Puzzle to his very heart and soul had faded once the pendant was gone from his neck, and still, Yugi had not dared to put his terrified thoughts into actual dialogue. But the Spirit of the Puzzle was waiting. Confused, but waiting.

The time had come to ask for the truth.

Yugi inched over to his desk and the heavy golden pyramid, hand trembling before gently resting on the smooth surface. Then, he raised the chain and put it around his neck.

_Mou hitori no boku, I need to know._

_What, aibou? _The Spirit waited, though Yugi thought the pharaoh would know what he was thinking of. But apparently, his thoughts had to actually spit out the exact phrase, terrible as such an admittance would make him feel. Somehow, saying the evil question was worse than merely suggesting it.

_Kaiba is just like he was…after you crushed his mind._

_Yes, I saw._

Yugi hesitated once more. Other selves never made things easy…_Did you have anything to do with it?_

Faint recollections of times when the Spirit had taken over him without his realization still dwelled in the cobwebs of Yugi's dark mind, places he had ignored and wanted to forget once he and the Spirit were much closer and open with one another. But such memories were still there, inerasable.

_Mou hitori no boku? Did you? Tell me the truth._

No steps were outside Yugi's door anymore; both adults had gone back to working in the shop, and Yugi hoped they wouldn't bother him about all this later. It was hard enough dealing with the Spirit—why would he want to deal with worried adults next?

_You believe I would ever do something without your awareness now, Yugi?_

_Well…it's just so similar! I have to know!_

The steady throb of the other Yugi's internal voice was bitter,_ So, Kaiba will always be our rival. Even in a near-death state, he will cause trouble._

Yugi bit his lip. _It isn't about that; just tell me if you made him like how he is. Did you "mind crush" him again or is this some effect from before? Kaiba isn't the type to just go mad…_

_Hmph. You wouldn't know, aibou; he never would let anyone become his friend._

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Yugi flopped back on his bed, wondering why a mind-chat was just as exhausting as one face-to-face with a stubborn child.

_Fine, so Kaiba doesn't want to be my friend. I know. But just tell me already!_

_No._

_Really?_ Yugi made a face. _Or are you declining to answer my question?_

_Why would you ask me if aren't going to take my word for it?_ If a spirit could sulk, the one in the Millennium Puzzle was very nearly doing that. _I was answering your real question, aibou._

A small silence was within Yugi's mind, or rather, a silence of conversation. Plenty of thinking was making Yugi's black void fill with multiple visions, words, scents, questions, and sounds.

_Mou hitori no boku…what happens when someone is mind crushed?_

Steps went by Yugi's door, slowing as they did so, probably to listen, but they faded away to another room. From the sound of the steps, it was his mother. That meant Yugi's grandfather was probably raiding the cookie jar.

_Memories return from long ago…memories and values and past choices. One reassesses one's life and whether it has been lived as it ought to have been. But, I've never had it done to myself, so I'm sure there are plenty of variances._

The Spirit of the Puzzle had given out plenty of penalty games, yet he had never experienced them himself? Yugi wasn't certain how that made him feel. Was it right to give punishments that one did not know all the rules and boundaries to?

_So, when Kaiba experienced that, which may even be close to what he is going through now, he would relive all his memories? All of them?_

The Kaibas' history was not available like the front page of a newspaper, but Yugi knew enough to know that such memories would not be fun or easy. In fact, they would be torture for someone who hated merely hearing Mokuba mention Gozaburo months after the man's death.

Suddenly, realizing just what Kaiba was going through—the fact that it could merely be a possibility no longer dawned in Yugi's mind—and having to go through it again, once at the cost of a version of himself, Yugi wished he could help. It was better to tell others the horrible past than simply relive it again, wasn't it? And, as much as Kaiba liked to pretend none of it mattered, Yugi knew he lied. Kaiba lived a lie every day of his life. Just once, Yugi wished Kaiba would let the others, let Yugi, see him for who he truly was, would simply…

…let him be a friend.

* * *

Living in a constant state of fear was impossible, which was what Gozaburo somehow seemed to expect from me. Yet, doing so would make me unable to function and even attempt to have a life. If that were truly the case, it would be better to end my false life than give another pleasure in my fear. 

Many countries experienced what I did. Yet, still, those who lacked living such lifestyles cannot understand an emotionless detachment to everything shocking going on around a person. A shrug when someone nearby is shot down from marauders from one government, while the other government struggles to keep control. A lack of concern to hear that other places have hit hard times. To live in a life of fear and death is to adopt its face as your own. And, once that has happened, nothing is shocking anymore, and there is no need to react and waste energy on something so common.

Heartless and cold I have been called. I don't deny it. But, there just may be some truth to the fact that there are different survival techniques one adapts to in a time of need. If my need was not then with Gozaburo, I couldn't say when it was.

Still, even though I was worked so pitilessly and hard to want death, I refused to let it break me. Mokuba would creep into my room at night and look for consolation. Now, with my hope returned to my face in battered bits of pottery unable to ever regain its former shape even if forged anew, I had to find the strength to remain positive for him, keep the energy to encourage him on when I had none left for myself. But I didn't let him see my weariness, or it would have all been for nothing.

It was _only_ through being forgotten, _unappreciated_ for what I did, that my role would have been done correctly.

* * *

Being shunted indoors, a boy could only do so much in one day. Jumi rarely left his side, and if Mr. Guy knew the younger boy was ruining his prospects for being adopted, the orphanage owner said nothing. That just made Mokuba grow more infuriated with the man. Infuriated because of his inaction or because such inaction was something his brother would have done? 

Sick and tired of the questions and confusion roiling and revolving around his mind, Mokuba looked for some outlet to put aside his utter feeling of betrayal from the world by discovering just how different his brother was from these people. In this pit of spiraling despair, Mokuba could only recall that which emulated his surroundings: more depression and hurt.

Trying to recall any example of his brother helping someone besides himself…Mokuba just couldn't concentrate enough to remember. But it had to have happened once or twice. Didn't it?

The young Kaiba turned toward one of the other boys with unnamable misery bubbling to encompass his life and shadow it all with pain and memories of loss. Those were not the memories Mokuba wanted. He wanted ones that would not hurt this other boy, but what he learned had the propensity to harm Mokuba far more, far worse.

"What do you know about Sven's past?" he asked with nary a tremble or quiver, just a steady gaze and voice. Only his irregular heartbeat proved how much he longed to hear a tale completely different from his own, a story that would separate his brother and the bully once and for all.

"Sven? I dunno. I heard rumors, but he's been here longer than me. I don't trust the story I've heard."

"I'd still like to hear it."

The other boy shrugged and sighed. "Fine. I heard he used to be a well-off kid with two rich parents. But, his parents always argued about him and just wanted to use him as a prop to show off to important guests. A smart, polite boy who would charm the guests." The boy scoffed. "As if Sven was ever polite. Anyway, his parents got divorced and were fighting over who would get to have custody, and he ran away. _That_ sounds like Sven. He lived out on the streets with a gang of kids."

Mokuba stared at the other boy, thinking rapidly, comparing personality traits and similarities in upbringings.

Leaning back against the wall, the other boy shoved his hands into his pockets, or at least, the two biggest holes that had once been pockets.

"Is that all? The entire story?"

"Yeah, that's all, little richie. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I never got to lord over any wealth or get used to any silken sheets. The streets were my home and that's where I loved. Now beat it." Sven towered over the other boy, who gulped and dashed off.

Glaring, Mokuba put his hands on his hips.

"How do you know I lorded over any wealth? Sounds like we have the opposite story, actually, in regards to wealth."

Sven instantly balled his hands and was only restrained from grabbing Mokuba and shaking him by the shadowed presence of Mr. Guy lurking in the doorway, pretending not to be too interested in their doings.

"Don't you ever think to say anything about me. You don't know me at all," he said lowly instead. Then, with a last glare, he marched away, hands still tightly clenching, nearly drawing blood.

"That's because you don't let anyone," Mokuba muttered with a sigh, wondering why he even cared.

* * *

How dare the little rich brat try to compare his life to mine! We couldn't be less similar. I _hate_ wealth, Sven thought darkly as he mopped the kitchen floor. 

Still, he recalled more just by hearing the little gossip story the one boy had heard. His entire story? Not remotely. But Sven wadded up the recollections and threw them away in the recesses for trash in his mind as he did with the garbage he picked up from the floor.

* * *

Sitting before the tall, heavy gate, she almost could not work up the courage to go within them. 

Did she truly want to adopt a boy with the light gone from his eyes? A boy who knew more of the problems of the world than she herself knew and could help him with? Even Mokuba, her former student, even his eyes were turning hollow and reflective instead of perky and interested as when she knew him. Could she save even one of them? Did she have a right to try?

Kaede Dojinschi had dreams, or perhaps nightmares, of what she had seen at the orphanage and even more of what she had not seen—the boys' childhood problems that led to their being at the orphanage in the first place.

Finally, with a deep breath, the teacher climbed out of her car and walked over to the main building.

It was the fifteenth day of Mokuba's stay at the orphanage. And on his wrist, ticking slowly away, was the boy's watch, keeping track of the passing time whether or not he desire it.

"Ah, you're back. I'm so…thrilled to be of service to you as you pick and choose a potential child."

She stiffly looked Mr. Guy in the eye. "I am not choosing stock, Mr. Guy. But I have a right to become comfortable with a child before taking him into my complete custody and forever changing his life." She paused. "Don't you think?"

Mr Guy gave his customary smile that was as far from agreement as chaining oneself to a machine to protest destruction by it. Still, such a leer was the closest smile the slimy man ever made. "So, which boy will have your blessing bestowed as you give him your fawning attention today?"

Without a move, the teacher took a slow inhale. Then, she consciously relaxed her tense muscles and crossed her arms easily. Mokuba, whom she wanted to see, obviously would be unavailable to her. She had no excuse to see him, as the boy wasn't up for adoption for fifteen more days.

"Jumi, if you will."

Dojinschi nearly could see Guy's eyes congratulating her on her devious way to get to see the young Kaiba without mentioning him. But then, she scolded herself. She was putting too much into the conversation. Even if there were two conversations going on here, that didn't mean that the orphanage owner was out to ruin her intentions of spreading an idea to Mokuba.

"He's rather shy and full of bad memories. I think he would do better staying here at the orphanage a little longer."

"Facing his fear of shyness and making new memories, good ones, would help him more."

"Going too fast could give him a major setback."

"Going too slow could as well. He needs someone to rely on at this moment."

"Are you going to make yourself that person? Or are you going to take yourself away and hurt him more?"

"I wouldn't be here if I intended to hurt the boy."

"Can you keep yourself from doing something unintentional?"

"Can anyone lead a perfect life?"

After a pause, Mr. Guy asked once more, "How do you know you're right in your decisions?"

"Why are you so sure I'm not?"

They looked at each other, glint for discerning glint.

Finally, Mr. Guy leaned back slightly and smiled. "Jumi is probably inside. I'll just go get him."

She followed the man inside whether he wanted her to or not.

The dark interiors took some getting used to, but Mr. Guy's swift pace showed how well he knew the area. Soon, a room opened before them, and despite his blocking back, Dojinschi peered around him and saw two boys playing a game. But, when the smaller one glanced up, his eyes went wide and he scuttled behind Mokuba who was now looking up in curiosity.

"Jumi!" The orphanage owner's voice was remorseless. "Come here."

With a small glance from the corner of her eyes, the teacher breezed by the man and smiled in the boy's direction. "How are you today?"

Slowly, he poked his head from behind Mokuba's back and stared at her with his deep blue eyes. Even with her disarming smile, he only stared at her.

"It looks like you have a great older brother. Was he playing a game with you?"

Shyly, Jumi nodded fervently.

Glancing from person to person, Mokuba asked, "Jumi, why don't you continue the game with me? We can all play." He glanced over at Mr. Guy, but the man, frowning a warning at Kaede, turned and left.

Earnestly smiling now, Ms. Donjinschi came forward and crouched on the ground by the board filled with little pieces. She began asking the rules, and to keep her straight, Jumi once spoke up.

"_No_, this piece goes there!"

Mokuba was stifling a laugh, but he remained utmost serious in order to gravely agree with the terrible transgression his teacher had made. She corrected herself and began to take her turn.

By now, Jumi was out from behind Mokuba and sitting on one side of the board, concentration completely focused on the game and not the stranger. Once, when he was not thinking, he did something that brought smiles to both the other two's faces.

"And now I win! Right?" He peered closely at Dojinschi so she would not take away his win. When she nodded, he clapped and jumped up. "I win!"

As she looked at the happy boy before her, Ms. Donjinschi had to remind herself of what she had just argued about with Mr. Guy. Hurting this child was something she could never forgive herself for. She had to be careful here. Still, at the sight of the smiling midnight blue-eyed boy, she could not help but smile in return.

A little later, as Jumi was picking up the pieces, she took Mokuba aside and murmured, "I have no good news yet. But when I asked if you were allowed to visit your brother, they could think of no good reason not to. Still, it has to be in the presence of the social workers, and because of their busy schedule, I'm afraid you won't get to visit a lot. However, the first time you are able, if you wish, will be in three days. What do you think?"

See his brother? Go and see his sightless stare, his lack of communication, complete disregard for the responsibilities he had? Be there speaking to him and getting no indicator that he was heard? To have his hopes raised to tremulous heights only to careen and shatter on the baked-clay ground?

Without a twenty-second delay, Mokuba said, "Of course I want to see him! What time?"

They settled the details and then Jumi was clamoring for some attention once more.

"_Onii_chan!" With the accented beginning of the word, he tugged sharply on Mokuba's striped shirt. "Let's play another game!"

Games all day long…perhaps it was complete in bliss Jumi's mind, but it was tiring for Mokuba to constantly cater to the boy's whims. It took so much energy to continue his enthusiasm and dialogue with the younger boy. Energy he found he just didn't have.

"I'll play another one," Dojinschi said with a grin, hoping to see some positive reaction from Jumi. She wasn't disappointed. He did not look thrilled, but slowly, a smile was growing on his face as his enthusiasm rose and he raced to find another game.

"I'll play with you," he paused, then added very quietly, "Kaede."

She did not comment, but her smile widened. Even Mokuba grew a little more excited as he sat down to play again.

* * *

"You'll never manage to take over my company if you continue to slack like this, Seto!" Those words I had heard often enough. Either Gozaburo or one of his lackeys said them to me daily. 

Those words were the mild ones. Plenty of other curses were sent my way, as well, and plenty of threats to being kicked out. Either me or Mokuba. Leaving Mokuba here alone scared me more than being kicked out with my brother, and yet, I hated to show them how well the threats worked. After all, ever since the first day, the competition between Gozaburo and I had been intense. I wouldn't lose now. I had a single defense whenever everything turned wrong, and if life seemed worse than death at times, I would look at the one element left within me that was mine alone and would always be true. Always. One could not change the past, as I well knew. And this was the one time such a factor benefited me.

In its platinum box, the memory resided. Untainted, recallable, important, it waited for me to simply sink through the darkened layers of my mind to return to it. There, suffused in its blankets of pride, strength, joy, and excitement, the memory had its home. So lovingly cared for and raised. It was the one thing I wouldn't let anyone sully. Not even Mokuba knew how much I relied on this memory.

They could try to threaten me, to say I was worth nothing. And it hurt. I cannot lie about that. There was no erasing the black marks that went on my life; there was no returning the light to my icy eyes. Even with Mokuba, there was no going back to the close father I once was. Even that, my role of father, was taken from me.

Yes, I had wanted the burden removed, but not as it had been. Instead of no longer needing to do my role, I was just removed from the picture completely. I had no time to spend with Mokuba, and my duties as a father began to cease from the beginning when my studies replaced it. Apparently, I was only allowed one set of roles. And, Gozaburo would never allow my roles to be even remotely close to his own. If Gozaburo was a father in name, then I could not be anything of the sort in deed. And as I knew, the difference in brother and father were shaded areas where one could not discern the line.

While I longed for "oniichan," I would have been pleased with being anything more than a mere "niisama."

Nights passed with no door creaking open and no boy coming to seek comfort after my exhausting lessons. And while it relieved my tired body and mind, such inaction frightened me more than anything else.

Was my brother turning to someone else with his child worries?

But still, despite the pain and hurt that came from change, there was the little box kept in the corner within my being. And even when the blackness of the sea depths overcame my vision late in the night where I lay exhausted unable to sleep, I had the warm glow to keep me struggling onward. Mokuba may have been removed from being my _utter_ purpose in life, for while he was a purpose and I knew I still had to be strong for his sake, being separated from him made the dramatic ordeal of guardianship seem superfluous.

But still, I knew that however much I suffered now, I would not lose in the end. I was dead certain. _Why?_

I just had to open my box…

* * *

From that second visit by Ms. Dojinschi, Jumi had a slight change in behavior. He was still close to Mokuba, but he no longer needed the elder boy to constantly be with him throughout the day as his protection. 

That first day, Jumi gave Dojinschi a hug when she said she was leaving, much to both Mokuba's and the teacher's astonishment.

"Come back." He looked up with big, midnight-blue, pleading eyes. "Please?"

Startled, she promised she would without thinking it through at all. But, she still had business at the orphanage for Mokuba's sake at least, as well as her own looking for a child, however much Guy disliked her presence as she "picked and assessed her purchases" like food in a grocery store.

But despite that, well…she feared her own fright of being too naïve to an orphaned child would make her decision difficult. And she didn't want to hurt Jumi by adopting him and not being there for him as she ought to be. Why had she been so adamant on wanting to adopt a child at all?

Teachers led such busy lives…

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and any reviews! 


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

One night, a couple weeks after our arrival, Mokuba snuck into my room after my lessons were finished. Well, it was even later than when they had finished. When I looked at my clock, the time was nearing one-thirty in the morning. Losing so much sleep wasn't good for my brother.

"Seto? Are you awake?"

My eyes turned toward the door. "Yes."

"Good." His padding feet came over to my bed where he crawled right on in as if our home had not changed and we were still at the orphanage or even at our uncle's house.

Once he had properly stolen all the blankets and made himself extraordinarily comfortable in a way that I suffered extreme discomfort, his heavy head rested on my collar bone, and my pillow was nothing but a distant recollection.

"What did you want, Mokuba?" It was a good thing I had not been the least bit tired; or else, grumpiness probably would have overtaken my body as it craved sleep.

"I'm tired of Gozaburo. When can we leave?"

Very carefully, deliberately, I told him, "We aren't going to leave, Mokuba. We're staying here from now on."

There was a silence, but he wormed his body around—digging into me once more—as he struggled to get into a new position.

"But why?" he asked at last. "It's no fun, and I never get to see you."

"Do you remember the promise I made you?"

"That I can be anything I want?"

"Yes. To do that, we have to stay here. It's the only way for your dreams to come true. Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Mokuba sat up and peered at me, but the darkness was absolute and I could see nothing. "I always trust you, niisama!"

"Then keep doing what you've been doing, and I'll keep doing what I've been doing. One day soon, Mokuba, you'll see that whatever you want to be can be true. People will never hold you back! But…"

"But I shouldn't trust anyone, right? Show no weakness?" Now, he was like a puppy begging for a pat.

"Yes, that's right. I'm glad you remembered. Even here, you can't be too careful." I put one hand on his shoulder. "Are you ready to go back to bed now?"

He nodded, black hair flapping, and, from his insistent tugging on my hand, I followed my soon-to-be-six-year-old brother back to his room, practically sneaking down the hallways.

Then, watching him crawl into his bed, I went over to the side and put on the nearest thing that came to a smile to me. Fortunately, it was dark and the gesture did not frighten my brother.

"Good night, Mokuba."

"Good night, niisama!" his small voice piped. Then, he reached his arms around and clasped my neck.

That speech had not only relieved my brother, but it had renewed my vow to stay strong in the face of a certain threat, one the butler Hobson had told me at a lesson: were I not to keep up in my studies, keep up with Gozaburo, Mokuba and I would be kicked out once more. No one would make me crumble. I would lose no fight. No one could kick me out, no one could get rid of me while I had my platinum box holding my one truth. My utter truth that kept me strong throughout the time there, through the pain and study, the loneliness and anger:

_Had I not defeated Gozaburo once already?_

* * *

Just a few more days to wander through, and then Mokuba would go to see his brother. Every minute was a rabbit poking its head out from the long grass, peering around cautiously, then slowly easing forward, ears twitching the entire time in case it should run back to safety. 

Mr. Guy, the younger Kaiba guessed, did not know about the deal that was happening between himself and his teacher, so he stayed silent. It did not take a failed enterprise to know that to approach Mr. Guy with the endeavor would entail him with being locked away so he would be unable to go. Maybe the orphanage owner would never say that, a different excuse ready on his lips, but fulfilling one almost-brother-less boy's dream was not part of Mr. Guy's daily ambitions.

Playing games with Jumi, despite the repetition, could only take so much time away from a day. During the other minutes when he could not possibly attempt to explain the rules of chess once more to the boy, who, while learning quickly, still preferred his own rules, Mokuba cast his eyes around commonly rested them on Sven if the teen was around.

Then, because the mind commonly traveled down paths through which it should never tread, down lanes no one would dare speak aloud or even desire, Mokuba always contemplated on how Sven was like his brother.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind yet again, the younger Kaiba tried to pretend such a betraying of the mind never existed. But there was no taking it back. So, he had to justify himself. With the new bit of story Mokuba had learned on Sven, even more differences between his brother and this bully crept out of hiding.

Mokuba thought, Seto was never as horribly mean as Sven. He may have never bowed to authority, he may even have gotten into fights, but it was for my sake and nothing more. And, because I was there, I stopped Seto from being a bully like Sven.

The most prominent incident was still in his mind, one of his earliest memories. His brother had just jumped atop a certain kid who had been harassing him. But, for Mokuba, that was just as troubling as what had been happening before.

"_They won't be so mean if you don't make a big deal out if it, niisama! It's only when you let it get to you! Please, Seto, don't fight…"_

And, miraculously, his brother had crawled off the kid and dusted off himself. He had to give one final warning—always had to have the last word—but that had been the end of the reciprocity of violence.

Before, it had seemed his brother needed him—what would have happened if Mokuba had not pleaded for Seto to stop the fight? But now, Mokuba did not know what had happened. He was still present like always. Yet, somehow, Seto had fallen into a state where there was no telling what would happen. That meant, despite Mokuba's continued presence, Seto still had problems, still had pain.

Mokuba wasn't good enough to solve his brother's problems.

That thought always hurt the worst, even more than seeing how his older brother was like Sven or Mr. Guy.

So the days went by slowly as Mokuba counted down one by one.

* * *

Oh, the self-righteous social workers. They were required to make a viewing into every household that graciously extended their boundaries and treasure in order to care for ones abandoned by any gods and were but a nuisance living on tax dollars, and not even the company of a business tycoon who was paying most of those tax dollars was off-limits. So they came sporting their moral beliefs like a banner for all to see and praise. With all their emotions on the outside, it was impossible for them to process within themselves something like a lie. They had too much attention focused on what was going on without of them. 

They asked the usual questions of whether or not my brother and I were happy being where we were. They recorded the answers with what they thought were reassuring, soothing smiles pasted on their condescending faces.

At first, there was the chance Mokuba would speak up against our new inhabitants. Yet, he also listened to my own replies and mimicked them in his own way. And, later, even if they questioned us separately, Mokuba's understanding that this was but a means to an end ruled all his responses. Besides, I imagined that he believed if I had brought us here, this was where we belonged. Such a simple understanding.

So, they never had a clue of the problems that resided within Gozaburo's mansion. Maybe it wasn't even in the mansion. Maybe it was just within me.

But I would not have wanted them to see any troubles I had coping. To speak out against his frightfully hard conditioning would be to admit I wasn't smart enough to handle it, that I had given up. My pride would never allow that. No matter what, I would not lose.

I had won the game of chess to Gozaburo, and I would continue to win any other game he wanted to play, be it with words or actions.

The little I knew of the world convinced me I was an expert at whatever else Gozaburo could try. But my pride had been my shortcoming before, as well as my weariness, and something would come once more to try me more than anything had yet.

* * *

One significant event happened before Mokuba was able to see his brother for the first time in weeks. 

Mr. Guy was smiling amiably and nodding profusely as he led a couple around the grounds on a bright day with the sky clear as a mirror. Mokuba watched from a window, and he was so curious he decided to go out and risk being in trouble. After all, the orphanage owner appeared so welcoming, unlike his usual demeanor. That meant Mokuba ought to have been able to get away with a slight break of the rules because the man was trying to impress this couple, whoever they were.

"Let's go outside, Jumi."

Jumi's midnight blue eyes shone. "Really, oniichan?"

For some reason, despite the fact that he had never been banned to the indoors, Jumi rarely left Mokuba's side. Bored to death, the boy perked up now and jumped to his feet. His excess energy left Mokuba stumbling along afterwards like a patient bedridden for months trying to walk.

The bright sunlight was enough to sear away all the days in darkness that had lodged into his mind. Blinking there in the light, Mokuba paused until he could see. However, a voice called out before his eyesight was adjusted, before he could adequately secret himself away just in case Mr. Guy wasn't so happy to see him outside and did something about it later.

"Kaiba Mokuba?" Feminine, it also held authority. "What are you doing here?"

It was the well-known Januka couple. Mr. and Mrs. Januka owned a convenient store chain, and they had done business with Kaiba Corporation before about selling their products, which was how Mokuba knew them at all. Some dinner or meeting or other that his older brother had dragged him along to had them present.

Her husband took over, disbelief in his voice. "Is this child up for adoption?"

Before Mr. Guy could come in with some half-truth, Mokuba replied, "I'm not really. Just waiting for my brother."

Mr. Guy pounced on the opportunity anyway. "He will be available soon. Sad case, really. His brother is unable to care for him, but they are giving Mr. Kaiba until the end of the month. Because of your business, I assume you heard what happened?"

"Just rumors." Mrs. Januka looked at the black-haired vice-president of the biggest gaming company.

The young Kaiba glared at Mr. Guy, daring him to taunt his older brother in front of him. While it may have not been the mini scowl to do his brother proud, the prestige of the Janukas kept the owner's tongue in line today.

"A slight malfunction of the mind, you could say. But, if you are interested in adopting this boy, I can certainly make you the couple who gets first pick on him immediately after the last day given for his brother to regain guardianship."

The Janukas exchanged a silent look, and the missus bent down to smile at Mokuba. Before she could begin to futilely attempt to get to know the boy, a different face peered out from behind Mokuba, making the woman jump back and hold her heart.

Mokuba looked back at the smaller Jumi and hid a smile.

"Who…is this?" the woman asked weakly.

Mr. Guy was about to begin saying the other boy's name, but Jumi, eyes wide, dashed off suddenly, heading back inside the main building.

"Jumi, wait!" Mokuba was like a cheetah in pursuit; his longer legs ensured his catching the boy eventually.

Mr. Guy was left to apologize and hastily try to entice the couple to look at other, more reliable children. Forcing the two back would do nothing to make them more…presentable. Though, of course, if they were set on one of those two, he would see to it they were brought back. The perfect salesman.

From where he was trimming the bushes, one set of hungry, angered eyes focused on the couple. There was no doubt in his mind that Mr. Guy would never show the Janukas _him_. His clacking of the sheers became more lethal and louder as he became more reckless with every snap.

"What is that atrocious racquet?" Mr. Januka cast his gaze around until it fell annoyed on Sven as if the boy were a mosquito buzzing in his ear he could not quite silence forever with a firm smack.

Such a look…Sven remembered being the worm in another person's eye; not the apple, the worm. And it had been his friend's. And his father's.

After his life on the streets had been discovered by the police, after they were taking him back to his family and his new poor friends to an orphanage, the truth of his well-known last name had become obvious.

"_Mitsumi?_ You're a _Mitsumi!_" Sven had never heard such disgust in a voice. But what pained him was that the voice had once been his best friend. Or, at least, he had thought the boy had been his best friend.

A wad of warm spit landed on his face and slowly oozed down as Sven made no attempt to wipe it off, just gaped at the hatred on the familiar face. Finally, tugging incessantly, the police officer pulled the Mitsumi away to his car.

As they drove Sven back to his mother's house, his parents recently divorced, Sven just felt the cooling saliva on his cheek slowly turning as cold as the glance his "friend" had given him. And nothing mattered anymore.

The drinking problems of his mother, his own father not wanting responsibility of him anymore—not wanting any reminders of his past life—the arrival at the orphanage, getting on Mr. Guy's bad side merely from his last name…all of it just piled up behind his realization of being friendless in an uncaring world.

Now, his own hatred of rich people welling up, borne from the confusion that came from knowing his only friends despised him once knowing his name, Sven would never leave richies alone. They deserved what they got for causing such grief. If they hadn't lived in such splendor, stealing from the poor, his friends wouldn't have been on the streets and hating rich people for their blessings. Plus, Mr. Guy's disgust for a rich brat needing to be in an orphanage just added to his own loathing of his class.

But what made it all worse was how he missed the days in his mansion with his family.

Lost in his memory and enveloping anger, Sven focused on his snipping of the branches of the defenseless shrub.

"Who is that?" Mrs. Januka asked, her own voice less bothered than her husband's gaze. "Does he work here?"

Trying to hurry them along, Mr. Guy said, "No, he's a…child, but a little…_troublemaker,_ to put it nicely. He is always doing chores as a way to try to teach him to behave himself. Now, if you'll come this way, I have a much younger, nicer child over here who is a little shy, but he is growing out of it."

"Troublemaker, eh?" the wealthy man turned to walk with Mr. Guy. "I always felt work was the best way to teach them a lesson. Keep their hands busy…"

Left behind, Mrs. Januka was watching Sven, and when his eyes met hers, her heart skipped a beat. There had never been a child's eyes so yearning and hungry for love. The burning embers smote a blow to her right then, and against her better judgment, she walked closer.

"Hello," she said, looking at the abuse he was giving the bushes. "Quite the job you're doing here."

Sven cast his look back to his task and mumbled, "I think you've made a mistake. Mr. Guy is trying to show you Yaikou. He's a good kid; time for him to be adopted."

The woman smiled. "And how long have you been here?"

He glowered at her as he continued sawing away the scant leaves that remained. "It doesn't matter. I've been here long enough to know I don't want to go anywhere some rich lady is going to pity me. I thought little Kaiba was going to be the perfect match for you; he's so used to wearing a suit and eating caviar."

"Oh, is that what you think we do all day?"

Sven averted his face, trying to keep inside how much _he_ longed to try on a suit just once again, just once fawned over again. But people like this never looked at him. And Mr. Guy was certain to scare them away.

Back a distance, Mr. Januka glanced back for his wife, saw whom she was conversing with, and shook his head. "Oh, no…"

His wife had no idea of what Mr. Januka had learned by looking at her. Her attention was completely on the teenager. "Tell me, have you had much experience in the life of a business owner? Do you have any idea of the work that it entails? We don't want a slacker who just eats caviar all day. And you, it seems you are capable of putting in a day's hard work. Too good, perhaps." She gestured to the mutilated bushes, which he abruptly stopped hacking.

Coming closer to the wealthy man, Mr. Guy murmured all the grievances Sven had ever caused, all the fights he had been in. But Mr. Januka shook his head. "You don't seem to understand, sir. It's not me you have to convince but my wife. Yet, when she makes up her mind, nothing changes it."

The orphanage owner went speechless for a moment. What on earth had enticed a well-bred lady to go speak with Sven, the epitome of the street thug? Maybe the teen had said something rude. If so…

"What do you think, dear?" the woman asked as soon as her husband arrived.

Sven looked at Mr. Guy's scowling face and quickly said, "Maybe I don't want to go to a place where I have to work all the time. I don't want to have to polish up on my manners and pretend to be what I'm not." His days of living the wealthy life were nearly lost to him, as irretrievable as the bullet-fast words spewing forth from a teacher's mouth a student was expected to recall.

Coolly appraising, Mrs. Januka raised her eyebrows slowly. "Well, the final choice is up to you. But it seems to me you've already accomplished that last feat already if not the others."

Helplessly, Sven dropped the shears to his side as he stared at the ground. He knew what he wanted…always had. Why then, was it so hard to believe it could actually happen? The teen did not dare look on Mr. Guy's face to see the cold fury holding negation to all his hopes. If this woman wasn't lying, he wouldn't have to worry about Mr. Guy anymore.

"I trust your choices, dear," Mr. Januka commented, "but it may be a little difficult. Do you know his record?"

"Yes, I can read the painful past in his eyes."

This woman was _nuts_. Why else would she say such crazy things and…why else would she want to adopt him?

But still…

Sven swallowed and looked up. Then, carefully wiping his sweaty palm on his pant leg, he extended his hand. It may have been the _left_ hand, but it was an attempt in the right direction nonetheless. His right still held the nature weapon.

"Take him and you'll regret it." Desperately, Mr. Guy fought for his free worker however he could. "I promise you he'll be back here in a week. Troublemakers like Sven are uncontrollable. He belongs somewhere he can be truly watched and supervised all day."

"I believe we have a surveillance system set up within our home. Can't be too careful with the thugs on the street." The Janukas nodded at one another and then turned to Sven, waiting.

Carefully, casting a look back at the building to his right, the teen said softly, "I owe all richies something: an apology." Then, he focused on Mrs. Januka's face and nodded. "I would love to be adopted by you."

By the time everything was taken care of, the only one's face that didn't hold a true smile was the owner of the orphanage.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_Finally_, at long last, the day had arrived.

Mokuba would get to see Seto today!

As soon as his eyes popped open a little after five in the morning, he was unable to go back to sleep and lay trembling in excitement. When would Ms. Dojinschi arrive? Unfortunately, his memory was completely intact, and the exact time was around ten o'clock. At least five more fours to wait.

Jumi was still sleeping. Though the tendency was slowly lessening, the younger boy had crawled into his bed last night after a nightmare. Though Mokuba had asked what it had been about, the young orphan had not replied and only hugged his "oniichan" tighter. Mokuba could guess what Jumi had seen, and he had stayed silent after that, leaving Jumi a silent strength instead of one built on unsteady words.

Slowly, Jumi blinked open his eyes. "What's…going"—here a big yawn interrupted his speech—"on, oniichan? Is it time to get up?" His eyes were like half-moons from the way they were opened.

"No, it's not, Jumi. Go back to sleep."

Too late; once young children were awake, they stayed awake, especially at the thought of an entire new day of games.

The other boys were sighing angrily in their sleep, and one nearby rolled over in discontent. From the jerking of the blankets, it was obvious trying to convince the younger boy to remain abed was not a good idea. They needed to go somewhere else.

Across the way, as Mokuba slid to the side of the bed, he noticed the absence of Sven. Then, the thought of the older boy's news of adoption brought a faint smile to Mokuba's face. But, still, it was difficult to be happy for someone else when his own life was dismal. And, Mokuba just was not certain how well the teen would fit in with his new life. He still remembered the retorts about rich people.

Yet, unbeknownst to the young Kaiba, Sven was, at that very moment of darkness in the Januka mansion where he had awakened from the same eagerness as Mokuba felt, trying on suits.

The two raced through breakfast, Jumi for once not needing to be urged to hasten nearly as much, and with a smile creeping out from behind his small hand, Jumi couldn't help but continue to beam around at everything as if it all were an inside joke.

In a way, it was. Mr. Guy had no idea, or so Mokuba guessed, of what was going to transpire. The element of doing something without permission added another layer of excitement to an already six-tiered cake. But soon, the cake would wobble and smash to pieces of gooey frosting and wads of air-fluff gasping for breath as they lay upside down in chunks on the dirty floor.

Always thrilled to do the same things they had done the past endless count of days, Jumi grabbed Mokuba's hand and dragged him off to begin another round of games. This time, it was building something with the blocks inside.

Automatically making a tower the young boy could knock over, Mokuba's thoughts dived into his past. And, suddenly, an hour before the car would arrive for Mokuba, the boy realized something. He could imagine just how everything would go if he went to visit his brother.

A roller coaster of emotions. The high would come each time Mokuba was allowed to go visit his brother. There was so much hope he could have floated away in the air. Would his brother respond today? Always, without fail, the boy would believe his older brother would.

But, as roller coasters go up, they must plummet back to the ground. Only, for Mokuba, the track had been detached somewhere and he would crash instead of slowing gradually. His brother would always be the same when he left. It was obvious. If Mokuba had had no effect when the strange condition set in, why would a few weeks make a difference?

Then, if he went once, the next time Ms. Dojinschi hesitantly offered to bring the boy, he would nod excitedly without pause and began to count down to the time of the next visit where he would be crushed…and so on in a pattern that never changed because Kaiba Seto never did things by anyone else's desires. Always his own.

The cycle was so obvious that Mokuba could visualize it effortlessly.

_Mokuba slowly took his place near his brother's still form. Those vapid eyes would not resemble a cold mountain stream again; instead, they were a mirror, but one that was so aged and abused that it had fogged and cracked._

"_Hello, niisama," Mokuba said softly, taking his brother's immovable hand._

_Footsteps occasionally shuffled past next to a sharp, stern click of a nurse's feet. And, voices loud by nature would ask mumbled questions that were either answered with a smile or a bored tone, depending who was on duty. In the psychiatric ward of the hospital, a visitor never knew exactly what he or she would hear. But within his brother's personal room, a different sound would stifle and spur on memories, regrets, wishes, and other random emotions. This sound was far worse than unseemly laughter or babbling that indicated a person at least was conscious._

_Silence._

_Such a potent sound…one heard a lot during the visits and echoed within Mokuba's own heart. His questions…unanswered. His memories…forgotten. His regrets…left to guilt him. His wishes…impossible. His overwhelming thought: _Seto is surely going to snap out of this state. One day. Soon.

_A lie._

For the first time, Mokuba began thinking his brother was not going to wake up at all.

And, as Jumi bounded along next to him, releasing a small giggle, the young Kaiba realized something else.

He wished Seto had never won that chess game.

* * *

The day it happened was one forever marred for any semblance of fond remembrance. 

Getting through the lessons was harder than usual because Gozaburo was relentless.

"You've been studying here for more than six months! I should expect you'd have improved more than you have!"

"You're just never happy!" I had balled my hands into the fists they so often made. Indeed, the form was more natural to me now than the form of a thumb's up or polite wave.

"I have reason not to be happy. You're not performing at my expected level. I should go back to the orphanage and choose a better heir!"

Here, my smirk was triumphant. "You never chose me! I forced you to adopt me when I won chess against you!"

For some reason, my words made a smile slither slowly to his face. "What was that, Seto?" he asked more calmly.

This terrified me more than anything ever had. Voice higher than usual, and not from the puberty I was about to go through, I reiterated, "I chose to come here myself. Remember our deal? I won the chess match to you!" Would he rescind his side of it now and drop us back off at the orphanage?

It was worse than that.

"Oh, I see. You think you _won_ that game through your own techniques and…skills." His eyes focused clearly on mine, and they were not lying. He might have even known I had cheated. But that didn't mean anything; I had still outsmarted him. "Well, Seto, it so happens that I went to that orphanage that day to adopt an heir. And I left with one."

No…

That meant…

Oh, yes. My platinum box was crushed. The pieces irredeemable.

The moment I challenged him, Gozaburo's decision had been made. I would be the one. He _let_ me win. He came to the orphanage to adopt a child, and he had gotten the perfect one for his wishes. He didn't want a frightened, timid soul who would do his work out of fear. Rather, the tyrant wanted someone who had some spirit to fight back and would survive the harsh conditions of the training. A rebellious heir would better manage a corporation fighting against numerous other companies.

My hands had gone slack and I almost sank to the ground. But I did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words had shocked me. How much the_ truth_ had given an insufferable blow to my mind and pride.

After that lesson, which had sunk into my very soul never to raise out a hand for aid again, the truth of my lesson to Mokuba returned to me. I had been a fool to think I could ever show my true self or that my dreams ever mattered. Trust no one…

I never had control in my life for one second. I had not changed the course of events. Someone else had always held the power over my life. And, in one of philosophy's other eternal debates, choice or destiny, the answer remained ambiguous. Perhaps that was why I detested so much hearing others who believe in fate.

* * *

Ten o'clock arrived, as did a certain car to pick up Mokuba for a visit to his brother. 

Alone, hidden away, Mokuba never saw the confusion on his teacher's face as she played a game with Jumi, the boy unable to answer her questions. He never saw Mr. Guy's growing ire at the way Kaede felt she could come and visit as much as she wanted without so much as filling out paperwork. He never saw Jumi's beaming smile at his teacher or his leaning over to whisper something secret in her ear. He never even saw the other boys doing what they did to get by through the slow days.

He never saw his brother that day, never gave in to the hope in his heart. He never even glanced at the picture around his neck.

Mokuba, stowed away in a closet with numerous belongings, passed most of the day in utter darkness and stiffness. He was a corpse without truly being dead. But from the way the young Kaiba felt at the moment, his experience could not have been far off from real death.

Now, the vice president of the largest gaming company put his head into his arms and wondered which felt worse: his brother betraying him or him betraying his brother.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

On the day of my birthday, Gozaburo set forth a challenge to me. A challenge so soon after I had withdrawn into myself and only turned out a steel face to the world

"Seto, what's your vision of the future for Kaiba Corporation? How would you run Kaiba Corporation once you inherit my position?"

Obviously, now that my box had been crushed and my will broken, Gozaburo could ask such questions without fear. And apparently, I had been keeping up enough with my studies not to fear being kicked out any longer. Well, a good threat would do that to any person with something to lose. And my brother was something I wouldn't lose—not him or his dreams.

The grandfather clock steadily ticked as I formulated my answer. I knew what the old man wanted, but after being kicked, oh yes, even after failing miserably, I was never going to be a cowering dog.

Tick…

"I'm going to build Kaiba Land."

Mokuba's young voice piped up to take over; this dream I had told him to keep him happy before, and now, while it was my own, it had also become his. And his dreams were my dreams.

"Seto wants to build a kind of Disneyland of games for…poor kids." Quietly, face turned aside, Mokuba added, "Like us."

With a scoff, attention turned more toward cutting his filet mignon than his two "children," he said, "That's boring."

Unable to hold back, I stood up in protest. "Games aren't boring! Games purify the soul!" I knew about that from my own days living in this place. "They can make anyone feel like a winner, feel like he can accomplish something!" Abruptly, I shut my mouth, remembering how Gozaburo had already proved me wrong on that.

"So what? Can games make the world turn?" Now, Gozaburo also stood, throwing his napkin down. "I want you to take over the company so you can be a ruler, not some play actor, some clown. Hobson, confiscate all the boys' toys. They don't need any encouragement of such an idiotic idea." Turning toward me, finding my fiery eyes with his own rigid ones, Gozaburo added, "You won't be touching those games again until you learn how to rule."

And so, games removed, my lessons continued without letup, coming down heavily that very night. Although I was exhausted, as usual, and just wanted sleep, Hobson returned with a book for me and a reminder that I was just on a break before the lesson began in several minutes.

All my self-control had vanished that night, and as I flung down the book he had brought, I looked with surprise to see it fall open. The book was hollow and a simple message rested within. The message was from Mokuba.

"Please don't let them steal the most important treasure. Use these and relax."

Duel Monster cards…my brother had saved my cards for me and secreted them over to me. They were all so special, but there, at the bottom, was something even better.

The paper was flimsy and white, making it unusable in the real game, but as soon as I saw it, I knew the card was too good to play with. A Blue-Eyes White Dragon. My favorite card, a dream I had absentmindedly told my brother long ago, hand drawn by my younger brother and his crayons.

Nothing could take my and my brother's dream away from me now.

For some reason, this single act of kindness made me want to cry and bawl more than any violence against me, any threat or sound of anger. How could I be worthy of such niceness? I hadn't even been the one who had given us this place as a home. Adopting me had been Gozaburo's plan from the start.

Coldly, collectively, I banished the traitorous emotion from my mind. Emotion made a person weak, made someone susceptible to doubt. I couldn't afford doubt where I was. The note instead became a different sort of beacon of encouragement:

Mokuba hadn't given up. Therefore, nor could I. We'd show Gozaburo how tough little urchins could be.

The card became not a friendly drawing by my brother or even a special Duel Monsters card. The dragon was simply a truth. And like that dragon, I, and through me, my brother, was going to rise to the top and pass by everyone beneath me. More importantly, no one was going to be able to forget about me or cast me aside like filth.

People would fight to be my friend.

* * *

How many days had gone by? All the time had turned into a swirl of blowing colors and ticks of a clock, a collection of Jumi's smiles and Mr. Guy's verbal harassment. But, after hiding in the closet and refusing to see his teacher when she had been there that day, Mokuba had lost all track of how long he had before he would be adoptable. 

"Oniichan!" Jumi had cried when Mokuba had finally made himself leave the closet and walk stonily around the orphanage.

A twinge of guilt had entered his gut like a piece of rotten meat, for losing Jumi so he could hide seemed very selfish to him. But pretending to be happy to someone who wouldn't understand his sadness…it was unbearable. The break was one Mokuba had despised and appreciated at the same time.

"How you doing, Jumi?" He had tried to smile and failed. Unbeknownst to himself, the lopsided attempt had more resembled the ones his older brother had done when they were children than his own earnest, truthful displays of warmth.

"Kaede was here, and she wondered where you were, and I said I lost you, and she was so surprised, but she played games with me and waited and waited! Why didn't you show up, oniichan?" Jumi had looked up, completely puzzled as his question muffled the excitement he had had when explaining about Dojinschi.

What could Mokuba have said?

"I was busy. But don't worry; I'm here now. Do you want to do something?"

And, Mokuba conveniently changing the topic, Jumi had not questioned him further.

Ms. Dojinschi did not return in the following week at all, slowly calming Mokuba's fears, while inflaming them at the same time.

Waiting for any action was worse than hiding in the presence of it. Every time the young Kaiba thought of his predicament, he felt a sudden churning in his gut as if a dagger had been twisted there, or as if he had swallowed all the pieces (and those added by Jumi) to the game of chess. The feeling was nearly like waiting to be punished, only no one was there to punish him. Mokuba had given up all chances to visit the only one with any right to do so. Now, by reliving the guilt every day, he simply was punishing himself.

* * *

Certain images and memories forever imbedded themselves within a person. Most usually, they were inaccurate, but they could be so vivid a person would adamantly protest any hint that they were false. 

I wished mine were false. But all the accounts have reported the same. Or at least, all those who worked for me reported the same to me. What the police heard was a different story.

Sixteen years of age and the duties of manhood again rested on my shoulders. But by then, I was well-used to the burden. And I wanted more.

"I lost my game with you! Know this! To lose is to die, to quietly give in!"

Did he really expect me to forget when he forever connected himself with the imagined vision of what my other father looked like when he lost his game as well? A shattering of glass, an impact, and a stain on the sidewalk that was forever in my mind. It seemed both of my "fathers" would exit the world in the same way.

And I was happy. Truly, sincerely happy.

Well, as happy as I could be. The problem was simple: Gozaburo may have lost this last game with me, but there was always one other game enmeshed in my mind as having lost…the most important game, the one that changed my life the most of all decisions. He still had that with him all the way to his impacted death and jerking release of the soul. Although I had won the company from him in my newest "game," the first game that I had lost would always rest on my shoulder, bowing them in anger and determination to never lose again.

And there was something far worse…Goazaburo's lesson did indeed stick.

Failure meant death. Death for him, death for me, death for my enemies in a sense.

Even for my brother.

It doesn't matter that John Watson, the behaviorist, claimed that he could take any child from anywhere and make that child into any kind of person: good, evil, wild, obedient…It didn't matter that that could have happened to me with Gozaburo. It didn't even matter that my life had been one hole of hell to live through or that I was tired of responsibility. All that really mattered was that my younger brother had been calling out to me silently with his actions, and I had ignored him.

My eternal duty ignored.

So, really, later losing to Yugi in that duel in my box was simply more humiliation, but his action, his obliteration of my mind had come just in time to save me.

I owed Yugi the rest of my life, and I hated him for it. Still do. Hate _him_ for _my_ failing.

I had been completely self-reliant, completely in control, but for this one time. And _he_ had to be the one to save my brother, be the one to cast me into oblivion where I would ponder out my life and its meanings.

Being adopted by Gozaburo had been a mistake, a very grave mistake. What was worse was that I had hardly ever been stupid, and yet, when it _truly_ counted, I had made the mistake. That's all that mattered.

I didn't even trust myself or my brother's trust of me anymore. I couldn't even rely on my own brother, my pride, my commitment and complete purpose in life.

Gozaburo had truly won.

**

* * *

****Conclusion of Dramatic Monologue**

It had come to me, one day, abruptly and suddenly in the office. What Yugi had said. Something about the power of friends. What even that annoying Gardner had said. _"What do you have at the end of the day?"_ And finally, it had hit me. Nothing. I wasn't an undefeated duelist, I wasn't the best at anything. I had even fallen victim to the sheer idiotic, vindictive actions of the corporate board of directors. But, worst of all, my company had fallen—my adolescent war of hatred and stealing culminating in ownership of a company I completely changed had been brutally taken from me more than once.

What was more important than all those failures? What good was a person when the only thing he really cared about faded?

I couldn't work at my desk then, and all the sounds, yes, the sounds from floors and walls away, were buzzing in my ears. Voices. Voices of people who didn't know what epiphany I had just had and who could hardly have cared less. In fact, no one cared. No one ever had, except maybe Mokuba.

Before, when Gardner asked that question, I had thought I had Mokuba, if ever I would get him back from Pegasus. But, the truth was I didn't even have him anymore. My little brother wasn't so little anymore, and he was gaining friends. He spent time on other things besides schoolwork or company work. In other words, he had a life.

That was when I realized I didn't. Mokuba had been my only other part of life, and now that he was moving on…I couldn't borrow his anymore. No longer did Mokuba need me. I didn't have to be his father anymore, and being his brother meant less than before because I couldn't relate to him.

Children grow up and leave their parents…even if they remain close to their parents and continue to interact with them, it wasn't the same as if I had been his friend, wasn't even the same as f I had been his brother. I had never been my brother's sibling. I had always been his father, and I realized just what pain was possible with parenthood.

So, my lifetime, however short it had been, dream had come true. Mokuba's dreams had survived everything. My own had been forcefully and utterly shunned aside. For awhile, I had thought I could revive it because Mokuba himself was eager to see it happen. The changes to the corporation and even the building of Kaiba Land were the closest I came to having my own dreams fulfilled. But it was all false, phony. For my dreams were nothing except for Mokuba himself, and his personal dreams had extended beyond me; _he didn't need me._

What would I say when he told me he was going on a date? I couldn't relate. Girls were completely foreign, useless, stupid. But there was no doubt my brother would see things otherwise eventually.

What would I say when he told me he was planning on going to college? School was fine as it went, but he would be gone and making decisions on his own. Growing independent, absent from his "parent," as it ought to be.

What would I say when he told me through his actions of moving on and living separately that he had discovered a true happiness with others? That his friends were more important to him than I was? Friends…I didn't even know how to describe to him that word. Sure, people had fought to be my "friend," but I still had no idea of the true meaning of the word—the nonsense the followers of that annoying Mutou always were yelling at me.

Mokuba wouldn't need me anymore, but I would need him more than ever. Yet, because of my role, because of my true wishes for him, I wouldn't be able to hold him back. I would have to let him leave me, move out, get his own life away from me.

I would have to feign excitement and happiness when he took his role in life and moved aside from me, when he finally became completely independent and an adult. For, while he would have the hopes and dreams of the world ahead of him, I had only the sudden crumbling and collapsing of my entire life's goal and work. I would have _nothing_. It all had been for him and _he would be gone_.

What was more important that that fact? My brother…gone.

That was when the ticking of the clock so intrigued me. I couldn't say exactly why it was so important. But, something about it caught my attention right then. Each passing second…There was no holding them back. There was no _going_ back. I couldn't even try to hold the ticks back in an attempt to stop time. And, I started being very quiet. I had to hear the ticking. I had to know if one more would follow this one. Why wouldn't time just stop? How could the ticks just go on ignoring me and unashamedly continue to break that which I had already put back together numerous times in my life. How many cracks would it have before it was irreparable?

Now the ticks were like the cracking of my soul, my heart…and I had to concentrate on the next one all the more.

And after that one, I had to know about the next. Would one follow? I had to know and listen. And keep listening. Had to keep…utter still, now. Couldn't move and…miss one. Just had to keep listening. Tick…listen…tick…and I had to keep listening…tick…there was something comforting-_tick_-about focusing only on the one sound…it had always been present-_tick_-in my life…and it seemed to help bring-_tick_-me back to how it used to be…

_Tick…_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Fourteen years of life had gone by during the course of twenty-seven days. Everything had been put into the correct place and reorganized. Like deciding what should be kept of a drawer filled with old paperwork, the cleaning was finally completed twenty-seven days after he started. The time had come to return. Hiding in the past wouldn't solve anything, and somewhere, deep within, Kaiba knew this.

The machine measuring his brain waves slowed as his return to consciousness happened. While he was not growing more vapid, he was getting control over what he thought about and just what he could handle, similar to when one wakes after intense dreaming in the REM sleep. Instead of processing all sorts of information inside, the brain was becoming aware of things _outside_ itself.

The world existed.

Kaiba Seto had returned.

* * *

"Kaiba Seto has awakened!" 

"The CEO is back!"

"Kaiba Corporation isn't going to be changed over to someone else, after all!"

So much news, so many different voices. Photographers turned up at the orphanage, reporters, social workers, and police officers. Someone finally learned Kaiba Mokuba was present.

Seto hadn't been happy when he learned Mokuba was at the orphanage. Especially _that_ orphanage.

"Mr. Guy? He's had a grudge against me and all those 'affluently well-off' ever since my company took over one he worked at and…_discharged_ him. But it wasn't my fault he was so old and not skilled enough to be marketable and get any better job than running an orphanage!"

Havoc, bustling, chaos, confusion…everything about taking Mokuba back to his brother was happening so quickly. The young Kaiba never even got to ask any questions. He heard his brother had awakened, and suddenly, the boy hurried after the man who told him that. Seeing Kaiba now was not at all difficult or anything to question. Mokuba was gone from the orphanage like a mayfly the day after it was born. Twenty-four hours of life, and so quickly, death.

Seto was awake…

Mr. Guy watched everything through narrowed eyes, and as he saw the little nuisance hastened away, he glanced down at his side. Behind the annoying Kaiba, staring sadly beyond the unsurpassable fence, was Jumi.

Jumi kept standing there next to the orphanage owner, tears coursing down his face as he watched his brother leaving. Even long after the older boy had left, Jumi stood there looking out.

Mokuba hadn't even said goodbye…

* * *

The pieces of his mind went back together eventually. Kaiba found something that had not been stained and shattered within his soul with that last sickening memory of the one who played a game with him and _lost_. The CEO didn't know how it had been overlooked by Gozaburo; how the man had not managed to crush it with the last of his fury, but there was one thing. 

But that one thing was gone from Kaiba when he awoke.

He knew, deep within, that his brother had forgiven him. Seto didn't know how Mokuba found the courage to do so or even why. The young man had thought his brother forever lost—had tried to make him forever lost. Mokuba remained. He was what kept the shadows from forever feasting on Kaiba's soul.

And Pegasus had kidnapped him.

No…that was before, the other awakening.

That first day, when Kaiba stumbled shakily to his legs from sitting in a chair for so long, when he blinked back crust from his eyes and had to squeeze them shut to regain any sight, when he moved muscles that had practically forgotten how to function, he discovered something his brother had left him. And today, Kaiba discovered it once more just like that day long past…

Around his neck, on a cord, was a simple pendant of a Duel Monsters card. The odd pressure of it on his chest caused him to glance down, his hair falling into his face, the tendrils not exactly as well-trimmed as they would have been had the young businessman been awake for the passing days.

Then, shakily, one hand clasped the card and simply held it. To open it was too much of an effort and required too much coordination.

No question fluttered in his mind on who it had been from. Seto knew even back then that this was a gift from Mokuba. No one else would bother with him in the slightest. But even this gift from his younger brother was a surprise.

There, alone in his room, his body had forgotten its stiff control, and a warm trail of tears started in his eyes. Because no one was around, because it had been so long since he felt anything like this, because Kaiba was regretful of what was most certainly lost to him, he let them quiver on the border of his eyes and then cascade in a salty flood.

One splattered on the card he still held, and he slowly rubbed it clean once more. Then, slowly, hand trembling, the young man delved within himself for strength and fumbled to open the delicate clasp.

It was him. The purpose and dreamer of what Kaiba would make come true. Not the Mokuba of Death-T or even the Mokuba living under Gozaburo. No, it was the blithely blissful Mokuba of the orphanage where Seto, his older brother, had been the only one to give him a life goal and hope in the future.

Maybe he was still like that. Kaiba couldn't know. Kaiba didn't even know himself fully; how could he know another?

But there he stood, just resting his gaze in Mokuba's goofy grin and his heart in his brother's calm ease of playing chess back at the orphanage. Seto recognized the picture. Just because he was absent from this torn picture did not mean that he had forgotten what they were doing or what they felt that day. Kaiba could only hope Mokuba had not abandoned his picture to the garbage pile and completely given up on him.

Then, looking out of the window where the first beams of light slowly warmed him and caused him to finally see, one of the maids entered and gasped.

…But all that was from before. This was now. Kaiba gazed down at his little brother a little longer, the beeps in the background giving him a headache. He had heard enough simple beats or ticks or beeps to last him the rest of his life even if he lived forever.

* * *

The television, which only captured Yugi's interest at times of a tournament or a new game, was broadcasting special breaking news. As Mrs. Mutou was watching her favorite television show, which had rudely been interrupted, she groaned and flipped the station. The news was nearly everywhere. Only the station on food and on boring nonfiction parts of society remained free of the infiltrator. While Suguroku made a little gasp of delight and rushed into the room from the store when he saw the station showing how to make a sumptuous chocolate cake, his daughter flipped the station quickly. About to shut it off in annoyance, her son suddenly panted into the room because he had heard a certain name. 

"Wait, Mom!" Yugi glued his eyes to the screen and stared as one of the reporters with the same style of speech as all other reporters—voice going up and down in an attempt to make what happened every day sound utterly intriguing and new, flubs quickly covered like frosting over a misshapen pastry—spoke of the news that Kaiba Seto had awakened and was right then traveling home.

"For those of you just tuning in, this is breaking coverage on the awakening of Japan's highest businessman, Kaiba Seto. Apparently, unbeknownst to our country, he was in the hospital for a reason no one has yet released. You can see he looks a little pale and is moving a bit oddly, but nothing major seems to be wrong with him."

The camera showed Kaiba, scowling, slamming shut the door to his mansion, and Yugi let his mother turn off the television. Once Kaiba was inside, the young Mutou knew nothing would be bringing him back out for the cameras.

"I've got to call the others!"

Yugi's mother shook her head as her son bounded out of the room. No matter what Yugi was doing, he always had to be melodramatic and run as if the world were going to run out of gasoline before he finished whatever breathtakingly important business he had yet to do.

"Time for dinner yet?"

Mrs. Mutou pursed her lips and tightly shook her head as Suguroku moaned and went back to the shop. Her father might have been anxiously awaiting supper, but once he learned what they were having (completely healthy salads), the old man was going to lose his anticipation.

Faintly, Yugi's excited voice drifted back to her, and she suddenly smiled. Even if her boy was melodramatic, at least it seemed she had no reason to worry about him being depressed or angry.

* * *

Days passed and he was alone again. But this time, it would be forever. Silently, tears started coursing down Jumi's face. His oniichan was lost forever like the rest of his family. 

In the stillness of night, in the loud common room echoing memories of Mokuba's voice, in the days dragging their feet and moping, sadly looking over their shoulders, Jumi asked the same question:

"Oniichan, why did you leave me?"

Unlike Mokuba, Jumi had no picture to remember his brother by. Alone again completely. And inside his mind, part of the subconscious conditioning, his mind was pondering what a mistake it all had been to overcome his shyness and dare to cling to another person.

Slow steps came toward him. Startled, worried they might by Mr. Guy's, he jumped to his feet and brushed away his tears. However, standing before him was not the orphanage owner but Ms. Dojinschi.

She gave a small smile at him. "Hello, Jumi. I came to visit you."

Giving no response, the child began to rub his finger in outlines on the ground. He remembered how Mokuba made him sand castles here before. Sand castles that _he_ could break into piles of soft cotton and encouraging ideas. While the castles could break and lose their might, always the sand was constant, changing shape and adjusting to its life.

"How are you doing?"

Again, the small boy gave no reply.

"I bet you miss Mokuba."

The tears welled up once more, and the boy couldn't help it; Jumi nodded. "I just want oniichan," he whispered.

"You know," she said slowly, looking at the designs the boy was making—he still wasn't looking at her. "I teach Mokuba at school. I see him almost every day."

That finally caught the young boy's attention. "Can I see oniichan?"

"Well, you can, but I was hoping to ask you a different question as well." Smiling once more, Kaede asked, "Do you want to come live with me? I could be your new mommy."

"My mommy's dead," he whispered unintelligibly. He still recalled, very faintly, what his mother looked like. But the image was fogging more as the days went by. "How can you be her?"

"I wouldn't be her, Jumi. I'd be a different mommy for you. If you want to be adopted by me, that is. But I thought all the boys here were anxious to be adopted. I talked to Mr. Guy, already, so you don't have to worry about that." All the papers had finally been filled out completely once her decision at last had been made. Now, it was simply the boy's decision remaining.

The midnight blue-eyed child turned his serious gaze to her face. "I'd get to see oniichan?"

"Yes."

"We'd play games?" he persisted.

"All the time."

"Really?"

Teaching would be a strain on the role of motherhood. But she was determined to go through with it. Instead of hoping to make a difference on the countless faces that passed by her through the seasons, just giving her one year to affect them greatly, she could devote her life to this one boy who desperately needed help. Kaede longed to help him more than she feared to not act. Wasn't making some sort of difference, albeit smaller than perhaps another parent could make, better than leaving this boy to the chance that he'd never get adopted?

"Yes, Jumi." Her smile was addicting, and the boy began to grow one himself.

"Okay."

Taking her hand, he let Ms. Dojinschi lead him out of the walled-in buildings and through the heavy, tall gate.

They went to the outside world.

* * *

Everyday occurrences that had happened so much before changed now that something important had happened. Kaiba had walked by the Kame Game shop numerous times before he ever had his hospital stay, and never did it attract the attention it did that day. 

Inside, Yugi was talking with his friends as his eyes passed by one of them to look out the window. Kaiba and Mokuba were both walking by as if nothing had happened in those twenty-seven days.

Yugi, panting, ran to catch up with the CEO, leaving his confused friends behind. He gasped out, "Are you all right, Kaiba?"

With eyes only flicked back to glance out of their corners at the short teen, Kaiba continued walking. Most of the time, he wouldn't bother with a response, but this time, a different automatic growled answer emitted, "Of course I'm fine."

Yugi had stopped moving, and the seriousness in his voice caused Kaiba to even pause in his striding.

"No, I mean _really_ all right?" Yugi's eyes held everything someone needed to have an excuse to pour out one's soul for. He would not mock Kaiba. He would even befriend the ex-orphan as he had tried so many times before…

The silence filtered across the air between them, growing stronger and more potent the longer it took for an answer to come forth from Kaiba's mouth. He so wanted to admit everything…

Tension oozed from the very pores of the silence and uneasiness was born on its reeking breath. Still, the CEO gave no answer.

Mokuba glanced up at his older brother, showing absolutely no emotion but love on his face. Even so, Seto was locked in some internal battle and unable to see his brother's kind face turned his way.

Yugi would understand. Yugi would listen. Yugi actually _cared._ And he wasn't required to, like Mokuba technically was. Yugi was simply caring about Kaiba and would commiserate on his experiences, would even keep it all a secret when Kaiba asked.

Still, the violet eyes were upturned and hopeful, welcoming and caring. Too deep and dangerous were such eyes as those, eyes that even the icy blue ones could find shelter and a "home" in.

How could there not be pain when others whispered behind Kaiba's back and called him cold and unfeeling? He knew that others despised him, and that their words were true.

_Are you really all right?_

No, Kaiba wanted to scream and shout, as he'd wanted to scream and shout for years. Always, bubbling underneath the surface was the desire to rage out what happened in his life as if it were some excuse, as if they could understand him because of it. They could. Kaiba knew they would if he ever tried to explain himself. And what would he say?

_I've lived a blasted life full of problems and pain forever and there's no escaping it! Just once, just once, I'd like for someone to know of my sacrifices, of my real emotion, my real personality. Someone to believe in me and see me for who I am instead of who I portray on the outside to keep the company safe, keep my brother protected._

Kaiba opened his mouth, but he could not speak. Clearing it quickly, the young man clenched and unclenched his fists, about to hand over his very soul to this other young man so willing to share the burden and the pain.

But then, Kaiba's eyes passed over Yugi's head and saw something that made him stop, made the melting of his eyes freeze once more and lock away all the emotions that had threatened to break free of their golden chains.

The gang had finally caught up to Yugi, surprised themselves at seeing Kaiba after he was absent so long from school. They had arrived jut in time to hear Yugi's question. Jonouchi made a scoffing sound and turned away. "Kaiba doesn't want help…"

"Yes, he does, Jonouchi." Very quietly, Yugi was talking to his best friend, so low that Kaiba couldn't hear. "You just don't know how to hear it."

Jonouchi had no response but to shake his head and eventually make another slight scoffing sound. "If you say so. I'll be waiting back at the shop." Down the street with his slight swaggering walk, Jonouchi marched away, unaware of a glance filled with unspeakable emotion—never would this one give voice to envy—following him for a brief moment. Then, the frozen eyes turned back to Yugi.

Without dragging it on any further, Kaiba muttered in his usual cold voice, "I'm really fine, Yugi." Kaiba turned to his younger brother. "Let's go home."

* * *

**Epilogue**

If Mokuba hadn't been there, everything would have been different. And, because the mind speaks the truth when all other tongues lie, I know what my life would have been like if my brother hadn't been there: my life would have been far better.

My younger brother brought with him responsibilities and a repression of my own dreams all for him. My life became his life. So, my parents did not really have two children. They had one, for I had made it my place that I would make everything possible for Mokuba, any dream of his come true.

I had given up being my own self for Mokuba. Then, I had given up even being Mokuba's brother. I was, in fact, only an existence _for_ Mokuba.

I cannot say which life I would prefer, for, undoubtedly, other aspects of my life would have changed had I not had my brother. And Mokuba was not all bad. He may have, technically, caused our mother's death, but I did not blame him for that. In fact, I didn't blame him for anything. I made what choices I would, and I know that what befell me was completely my own fault. That, in essence, the fact I had no life but my brother's was my own fault.

My life had been bitter, it was true, but the taste of bitterness adapted to my tongue and there it would remain. The poison wasn't so lethal to my embittered life, and I was able to build immunity to it. So, sacrificing one half-dead life to keep a different one clean and pure made perfect sense to me. And, in the end, as through my entire existence, that was all that came to matter: Mokuba's dreams and own life.

What hurt was how simple it was for my brother to go through life unaware of my sacrifices. And yet, had he known of them, they would have meant less.

There were times Mokuba's honest eyes had looked at my face before, and I thought he might have known…but no…he couldn't.

I can only hope, desperately believe, he doesn't know.

If he did know, if he ever understood exactly what I had done for him, he just might hate himself for it.

Or perhaps, he'd even hate me.

And yet, I'd rather suffer that than have him know my suffering had all been for him and make him feel guilty. Everything I had done would have been negligible then. To share the truth is to corrupt my brother, and so I stay silent. And still, sometimes, I wish and long so deeply to let him know why I act as I do, why sometimes I cannot smile or why I cannot easily tell him that I love him.

Such contradictions in my own mind became commonplace, and so it was that I was always, constantly, never ceasing to scream from my desire to be heard by someone. Anyone—_especially_ the ranting friends of Yugi who gained such delight in mocking my way of life.

But my scream was always silent so my brother would never hear it. And I would refuse to let anyone hear my plea even to make my own life a bit more bearable. Those friends of Yugi's that I so loathe came just in time to stop me from doing something I would have long regretted. My life was _my_ life.

No one will know the "why" in it. Ever.

* * *

Silent Screaming by Iced Blood

The curse of such a tendency  
To fall back on compliancy  
I've given up trying to see  
The reason no one noticed me

I stood always in the background  
Making not a single sound  
Keeping up the silent trial  
To try to make you smile

I scream but no one hears  
I wail upon deaf ears  
In my mind I'm always weeping  
I'm even tortured when I'm sleeping

But I can't ever complain  
I must have gone insane  
I've given all I own  
And yet I'm still alone

I do all that I can  
To try to help you stand  
And all you give in turn  
Is a glower meant to spurn

And yet I keep on going  
Although I keep on knowing  
I can't expect a thing  
For me the birds won't even sing

Yet I've no feeling of contempt  
Though you've naught made an attempt  
To thank me for my actions  
I'm just one of your distractions

I'll keep looking toward the light  
And when the day turns into night  
Perhaps while I am dreaming  
I can stop my silent screaming

End

* * *

Thanks so much for reading my last fan fiction! I highly am appreciative of all your reviews and great comments. I have but one favor to ask…don't forget to review Iced Blood's poem! He wrote it especially for me when I asked with nothing to go by but a brief description (look how well it turned out for my story when I didn't want to give him details on my ending!), and since I included it in here and you most likely read it, it would be a nice gesture to go review it NOW. You can find him under my favorites and the poem there as "Silent Screaming." Once more, thanks very much for reading. 


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